Nowhere to Run
by Isob3l
Summary: Clary Fray is at the end of her rope when Jace finds her and takes her in. He's used to keeping secrets, but this tiny, fiery stranger has a way of getting behind his defenses. Little does he know that her secrets are far more dangerous than he could ever predict.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is kind of just an idea I kind of wanted to try. I don't know if people will read it, but I'm curious. Let me know what you think.**

 **a/n2: I'm editing each chapter for grammar so bear with me.**

 **Nowhere to Run**

Chapter 1

 _She was going to die._

Clary had had that thought countless times before in her life and she'd faced each time with the grim certainty that came from having nothing really to live for, but this time the thought only filled with her with fear.

 _She didn't want to die._

That thought was a first.

She brought her knees closer to her chest in the hope that perhaps some of her remaining body heat would stave off the chill that would prove to be her unmaker, but she knew it was a weak attempt. The midnight bus wasn't coming, as the man who'd sold her the ticket warned her it might, and she had no money with which to rent a room at the local inn. She could maybe throw herself at the feet of the owner, but the world had taught her that to make oneself powerless to another was to drive the nail into one's own coffin.

Despite all of her father's tendencies which she'd steadfastly avoided, his aversion to weakness was not one of them.

And because of that fact, this freezing wooden bench would be her grave.

Her cat Simon mewed impatiently from her bag and she considered opening it so that he could go on as a stray after her death, but she'd learned from several attempts to allow the cat its freedom from her circumstances that it was unfailingly loyal. So she kept the bag zipped and only hoped that whoever discovered her body checked for him and took care of him in a way that she'd never been able.

It was ironic actually, how anticlimactic her death would be. She'd spent much of her life bleeding out and begging for death in spectacular ways, so the idea of quietly freezing to death, nameless in a town in which she was no one, was depressing.

Her mind rebelled against a death so unremarkable, but she could see that her fingers had turned blue and she'd lost feeling in her legs long ago. Try as she might, she knew that, eventually, she would succumb to the fatigue that hovered at the edge of her consciousness, slowly eating away at her willpower.

She would've cried if she hadn't been so against it. She would've screamed if she'd thought it'd have made a difference. She would've done anything if she hadn't been so sure she'd die. So instead she'd settle for a quiet, noble death despite how her body raged against her denial of her most basic instinct of survival.

Clary shut her eyes for a moment and rubbed her numb hands against her numb legs in a distant hope that the concept of friction would be enough to save her life before opening her eyes to the dark again. The brief reprieve would be all that she'd allow before her body stepped in and made the decision for her. Her thin, ratty jeans coupled with a holey t-shirt covered only by an ineffective black sweatshirt was ill-equipped to protect her from the effect of her decisions, but she didn't regret those decisions. Not even the one to linger in a place that held nothing for her until the last possible, unreliable moment. Even if she hadn't lingered, she would've met a similar end. She had no more money and she was too scared to stop in any one place long enough to get a job and make more money. This was inevitable and she wouldn't begrudge herself the small joy she'd taken at her own expense.

She'd decided to linger and, to an extent, to die because she'd seen a cute guy.

Clary had been wandering around the town and trying to figure out where the nearest bus stop was when she'd spotted two of the most stunning gold eyes she'd ever seen. The eyes were attached to a gorgeous face and a beautiful body that resulted in an absolutely breathtaking figure of a man.

She'd spotted him when she was passing by the front window of an establishment called "Lightwood Café" while he was picking up an order and talking to the elderly woman who worked at the retro bar separating the dining room from the kitchen. Clary had been walking by, looking into the diner disinterestedly when she'd seen his handsome profile. She'd slowed her pace slightly, taking in the tanned skin, golden wavy hair, and angular jaw with mild appreciation and fully intended on moving on. The woman at the bar laughed, causing the man to smirk pleasantly and turn his head so that he was looking in her direction distractedly.

Then they locked eyes and she literally stopped walking to stare him. He seemed similarly transfixed and the amusement that had dominated his face was replaced with obvious confusion. He tilted his head slightly to the side and furrowed his brow as he studied her. Meanwhile, she just stood there, by the window, gawking at this man like an idiot. She knew she should keep moving, but, for once in her life, she didn't want to go anywhere. She was trapped by his heavy stare and didn't give a damn about trying to get out of it.

He moved to stand and Clary felt her body tense, certain that he was coming to talk to her. Should she go inside? Ask for his name? Could she walk in there and introduce herself coyly? Could she laugh at his jokes and place her hand on his arm like any normal girl could? Could she walk in there and pretend that she was just a normal girl?

She'd never been able to have moments like that. If she saw a handsome man in a diner, she didn't think twice before bowing her head and making herself invisible. She didn't think she was capable of anything else but in that moment she knew she could try. It was the first time the reason she'd run seemed incredibly obvious and fulfilling.

It was the first time genuine hope bloomed in her chest.

The woman behind the bar said something, causing the man to turn his head, freeing her from his eyes. She immediately snapped out of her stupor and stepped out of sight to avoid confrontation. She knew any conversation with him would be a waste and she didn't need something pulling her here.

Clary wasn't far away enough yet.

But the hope didn't go away and, though she avoided being seen by him, she kept an eye out for him as she walked around town, relishing in the jolt of electricity that rocketed through her whenever she saw him as well as the reminder that she could one day have the freedom to have him, even if she left him behind while she pursued it.

So she'd missed all of the other buses and the hope she'd discovered had come too late.

She felt her eyes drifting shut and tried to push herself to her feet to prolong the inevitable. Pushing off of the bench, she attempted to put weight on her numb legs, only to fall over from the effort.

That was when she heard it.

A sneeze.

Her body tensed as she realized that she wasn't alone and all of her senses were on alert. Simon mewed anxiously from her bag and she could hear him scratching at the zipper of the bag to get out and defend her.

She pushed herself into the seated position with her lifeless arms and struggled to her feet, perhaps in the hope that her frozen 5'2 form would intimidate whoever had made the sound, only to collapse in an undignified heap on the ground.

She scanned the dark area, illuminated only by a gas lamp directly behind her that only showed the area directly in front of her, but couldn't find the source of the sound. She let out a sigh and felt her fear evaporate. She was far more comfortable in situations like this. People. Those she could deal with and anticipate. The cruelty of people was something with which she was far too familiar.

Fearlessly, and probably foolishly, she called out, "I heard you. If you're out there, show yourself so that we can get this over with."

She heard a sort of shuffling and the sound of someone clearing their throat awkwardly before she finally heard footsteps and came face to face with a pair of familiar golden eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed in the last chapter! It's not letting me see them to reply, so know that I appreciate the reviews! Someone had asked about their ages in the last chapter and it's not super consequential to the story so I'll just tell you, although I'll probably mention it later in the story. Clary is 18 and Jace is either 20 or 21. I haven't decided. Anywho, please review if you read this story so that I know if there are any problems or suggestions you guys have. I'm trying to improve as an author so reviews are crucial. If you just want to let me know that you like what I'm doing then that's appreciated too. Thanks. Enjoy.**

 **a/n2: I'm going through every chapter and editing it so that it's grammatically correct!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own really anything mentioned in this story except my own creativity. Creativity doesn't pay as nicely as owning things does though….**

Chapter 2

Jace had always been good at thinking on his feet, but the second those big green eyes met his, all of his planning had gone to mush.

If he was being honest with himself, though, he hadn't really planned much of anything. He hadn't wanted her to see him, as he'd still been deciding on whether or not he should get involved when he'd sneezed. He hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but then she so noticeably tensed and it occurred to him that she probably couldn't see him or much of anything.

It was for the best though. He wouldn't have been able to resist approaching her anyway, so this only sped up the inevitable and he could think of what to say when he needed to.

But then she hit him with the brightest shade of green he'd ever seen and relaxed ever so slightly when she realized it was him that he was made positively speechless.

He'd recognized her from earlier at the diner. He'd been talking with Maryse when he'd caught a glimpse of her outside. His first thought was that she was probably just some tourist breezing through town on her way somewhere fun. The small city of Alicante in New Jersey didn't usually get a lot of vacationers, but the ones that did turn up were usually only passing by on their way to New York or the beach.

Despite this he'd been instantly struck by her. Her fiery red hair, petite frame, and striking green eyes had been part of it, but there was something more that drew him to her. He watched her for a few moments, convinced that he'd never gather the strength to look away, and was fully prepared to leave the diner in pursuit when Maryse had picked up on his odd behavior and asked him about it. By the time he looked back at her, she was gone. All throughout the day, though, he caught flashes of red. It was admittedly the reason he was still in town this late. He usually came in the morning, conducted his business, and then headed back home long before it got dark.

And he was glad he'd lingered. Her pale skin had taken on a deathly bluish hue and her eyelids looked like they'd remained open due to a concerted effort on her part. Though she'd relaxed slightly, her eyes were wary and she tried to inch backwards despite the uselessness of her limbs he'd noticed earlier in her attempts to stand. He held his hands out in front of him in the hope that he'd appear harmless and, for the first time, cursed his intimidating figure. He was easily a foot taller than this small girl and perhaps more than 3 times her weight based on muscle mass alone.

Hell, _he'd_ have been scared of him.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised in what he hoped was a soothing voice, only to be met with an eye roll.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. So this girl wasn't quite as delicate as she seemed.

"The bus isn't coming, so you'll freeze to death waiting for it. Do you have somewhere to stay?" he asked, speaking slowly to her like she was a frightened deer. He wasn't sure why he was so concerned about scaring her off considering how very apparent it was that her legs weren't going to carry her anywhere.

It struck him how defenseless she was here. Just about anyone could've done anything they wanted to her and, in this state, she'd be unable to defend herself. He was overwhelmingly relieved that he'd found her before anyone else did.

"Does it look like I have anywhere to stay?" she snapped defensively, her arms beginning to shake against the strain of holding herself up. There was no way she'd remain conscious for more than 10 minutes and Jace was amazed at how long she'd lasted given how thin her clothes were.

"I need to take you to the nearest inn. I know the owner. She'll make sure that you make it through the night and I can talk whoever sold you your bus ticket to get it exchanged," Jace concluded, every bone in his body resolved to keeping her alive and getting her out of his hands.

"I can't afford an inn," she argued weakly, her voice sounding more desperate than angry, "So you can just leave me alone. I'll be fine."

He cursed under his breath and crouched down slowly so that he was at eye-level with her and tried once more, his temper rising, "If I leave you alone, you'll die. You're turning blue and I don't make a habit of leaving dead bodies in my wake. So let me take you to the inn. I'll pay for it because I have no interest in letting you die to appease any dumb pride."

"I won't go," she exclaimed, her voice sharp and piercing the silence of the night. She winced and, sighing resolutely, nearly begged, "Please. I can't leave a trail of bread crumbs," almost imperceptibly she added, "Or he'll find me."

He cursed again. This was just his luck. The first girl to turn his head in what felt like forever was probably an escaped convict of some sort. Even with this idea in mind though, he couldn't leave her here to die and one look at her drowsy green eyes pleading with him to understand made it impossible to disobey her request to avoid the inn. Apparently, he'd rather get arrested for aiding and abetting a convict than betray a complete stranger.

That was a new development in what he deemed to be his character arc.

"Fine. I won't take you to the inn. You can stay in my house. It's safe and not too far and no one will know you're here," when she opened her mouth to protest, he added, "It's not up for debate, so shush. Can you stand?"

Quietly mourning the death of his plan to wash his hands of her, he stood and moved within arms' length of her before crouching again and shucking off his coat. His body immediately resented the decision, as the absence of his heavy winter coat made his black, long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans seem thin, but he offered it to her and forced her arms through it anyway. She whimpered slightly in protest, but he only gave her a stern look as he awaited an answer.

"I-I don't think so," she answered, her eyes panicked, "But I'm fine. I don't need any charity."

He nodded resolutely and slipped an arm under her knees, earning himself an irritated, "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

He placed another arm around her back and heaved her up with a grunt, despite how light she was. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered slightly, disappointing him slightly as he'd hoped she'd wrap her arms around his neck for some reason. She tried once more, "Just let me go. You don't want to get involved with me!"

He let out a sardonic laugh and quipped, "I have no intentions of getting 'involved with you'. I'm just doing you a favor. I'll kick you out in the morning, but I'm not going to let someone discover your frozen little corpse in the morning. So, please, just stop your whining."

She huffed, irritated, and he started to move in the direction of his house when she exclaimed suddenly, "My bag! Please. My cat is in my bag! Please grab it. I can't leave him."

Jace answered her with something akin to a groan and grumbled, "I'm picking up all kinds off strays today."

Regardless of complaint, he made sure to grab the bag as he passed by the bench, earning himself an irritated meow from its occupant, and made his way to his home.

 _What have I gotten myself into?_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I got some interesting responses to this story thus far. Most of you guys don't seem to know what to make of it and I can't blame you because, same. I know it's slow right now, but can you blame me? It kinda needs to be right now. Anywho, let me know what you think of what I've written.**

 **Disclaimer: Owning nothing is sad, but alas…**

 **Chapter 3**

The trip back to the stranger's house, while short, was unpleasant.

Clary's legs were still numb, but blonde man's warm winter jacket had done a great deal to warm up her torso, so instead of a blissful nothing, she felt the biting pain of her arms and chest regaining feeling. She was, for the most part, uncannily comfortable in his arm. He had a strong grip and Clary undoubtedly had felt safer than she had, well, ever.

This fact in and of itself was disconcerting though. She knew nothing about this man and, yet, she was sure that she could trust him. Her brain told her that this was a dangerous thought to have. She couldn't risk forming any attachments.

He jostled her slightly from time to time when he noticed her drifting. It was impressive that he noticed considering she didn't even notice when it was happening most times. Each time he did, he would grunt a little, like she was a huge inconvenience to him.

 _Don't pick someone up against their will if it's_ bothersome _to you_ , she sneered mentally, her irritation far outweighing her gratitude.

His long stride moved them quickly from the bench through a lightly wooded area outside of town. The trees were thin and fairly spaced out so that the area only barely qualified as woods, but that was perhaps the most accurate way to describe where the handsome man took her. As they travelled farther from civilization, a general sense of practiced uneasiness settled over her, less from natural intuition than a learned distrust.

"You're not one of those people who sacrifice unsuspecting young women in the middle forests in the name of the ancient gods or anything like that, are you?" she asked after a spell of silence. She was frustrated to note that her voice lacked strength and sounded as heavy as her eyelids felts.

She felt, rather than heard, a rumble in his chest and wondered if that was what he considered laughter. She was glad she'd felt that questionable laughter because his next response was gruff and impassive.

"There's not really anything you could do about it if I was, is there?"

She laughed weakly, resolving to try and worry less about the situation, and quipped, "Well I was going to freeze to death anyway. At least this will be an interesting story someone will tell. Make the death as quick as possible, if it's not an inconvenience."

There was the rumble again and she detected the smallest hint of a smile on his otherwise stony face.

"I'll see how much blood the old gods want before I commit to anything," he concluded, his tone serious. Aside from the rumble and the almost-smile, he showed no indication that he was joking, but her concerns were eased nonetheless and she felt herself relax into his arms.

She'd never been held so intimately before today and the sensation, though she knew it was artificial in its actual intimacy, was a new one, to say the least. She wasn't sure whether or not she enjoyed the sensation. On the offset, there was nothing unpleasant about it. She was cloaked in warmth, security, and his scent, which was earthy in an all too pleasing way, but the experience put her on her guard more than anything else. She couldn't get attached to this place and life had taught her that the most painful blows always came before she knew to expect them.

So while she relaxed into his grip and set her mind at ease, she was careful not to dull her senses and her heart was hardened against anything he might throw at her.

After what Clary estimated was maybe half an hour, she could make out a dimly lit shabby cabin a few yards away. She could barely even bring herself to register this fact with surprise.

 _Of course the handsome mountain man lives in a creepy cabin_ , she mused, only dimly frustrated.

Clary hadn't slept in days and she hadn't eaten anything substantial since her money became essential for bus fare. Despite all her posturing about keeping aware and not needing anyone, she was not at her best form and it was evident in her lack of alarm at the prospect of being in a cabin away from town with a man who could more than easily overpower her.

"S-stop. It's ok. I'm not going to hurt you," he ordered, sounding slightly jarred by the fact that he'd said anything. Clary looked up to shoot him a bewildered look. Stop?

"I could almost feel your mind running," he explained, offering no further explanation.

When they reached his porch, he hesitated, clearly wondering how he was going to handle the door. Clary opened her mouth to insist that she could stand, only to slam it shut as he began moving, assumedly having figured out what he was pondering.

He moved as close to the door as possible, trapping her body between his hard chest and wooden door, and she felt his hand move out underneath her legs although his forearm stayed where it was to support her. She sucked in a breath in surprise at the sensation, knowing that this could possibly be cause for alarm. Instead she felt her face flush as she could feel his hard chest, slightly chilled from the cold, and his hot breath on her neck, reminding her why she'd lingered in this town in the first place After a moment of fumbling about in search of a doorknob, she felt his wrist twist as he turned the doorknob and opened the door.

As he carried her over the threshold, she asked in shocked, "You don't lock your door?"

"I don't get a lot of visitors," he answered simply, as if it was obvious. She supposed it was obvious, but the idea of being even more defenseless in this place was more than a little unsettling and it must have been evident on her face, as he continued, "But if it worries you, I'll lock it for tonight."

She looked up to lock eyes with him, his golden eyes wide in concern. He pushed the door shut with his foot and then turned the lock with a satisfying click, causing her to release a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"So mystery girl is more afraid of what's on the outside than she is of me," he mused, his eyes light and his tone showing more emotion than the dispassion he'd so far shown her.

Clary averted her glance to scan the room and was pleased to note that it was much less creepy on the inside than on the outside. It looked, dare she say it, homey. Immediately upon entrance she could guess the layout of the house. The living room was simply furnished as it sported a worn, leather sofa with an afghan draped over the back behind a simple wooden coffee table. She noticed a lovely fireplace to the right of the door in front of the table and a framed photograph on that table. The walls were grey and there were no carpets. The kitchen was small and separated from the living room by a short island only. To her right, she noticed two wooden doors, presumably a bedroom and a bathroom.

He set her down on the couch so that she was seated upright and looked at her a moment awkwardly before reaching behind her and grabbing the afghan she'd seen earlier. He offered it to her tentatively and, when she accepted it, froze again.

Clary felt like she should help him, as he clearly had no idea what to do, but she was at a loss for words as well. Noticing her bag still in his hand, she offered an outstretched hand and wiggled her fingers expectantly. He eyed her hand like it was a snake. As if sensing her unasked request, Simon meowed impatiently, snapping Jace out of his stupor.

With a surprised "Oh," he offered her the black bag gingerly, which she accepted and opened. Simon nearly leapt out of the bag, his eyes scanning the room anxiously in search of a threat. Clary wasted no time in wrapping the curly haired brown cat in the afghan and squeezing him to her chest. Simon mewed indignantly but accepted the gesture.

"Your cat is glaring at me," the man stated, his tone borderline amused. Simon was indeed glaring at the blonde-haired stranger with eyes more expressive than a cat's should be, and looking at him they expressed one sentiment only: I don't trust you.

"He doesn't like strangers," Clary replied simply, amused by Simon's protectiveness.

"Right," the stranger said, averting his gaze from the pair to look around the room restlessly, "Ok. I'm not sure what to do here. Are you hungry? Cold? You're probably cold. I should get you out of those clothes." He returned his gaze to her to offer an appraising look in time to catch her quirk an eyebrow up at him.

He lifted his arms up in a defensive position, his eyes widening as the meaning of his words dawned on him, and he corrected, "No. No. That's not what I meant. I mean into something thicker and warmer. Your clothes look kind of thin. Not that I was looking… in that way, I mean. I _was_ looking, but in a doctor-y way." He stopped his nervous rant with a sigh and Clary had to stop herself from laughing. Even so, she couldn't help the small smile that appeared on her face.

He ran a hand down his face, his eyes moving from hers momentarily before they found hers again. They maintained a steady eye contact for a moment, like they had earlier that day, and she watched him relax slowly. She felt something strong rise up in her and she wanted to vocalize it, but didn't know how.

Instead, she offered him what she could and said, "It's alright."

He nodded slowly and she watched his shoulders relax.

"Ok," he began, his voice more confident, "Here's how this is going to go. I'll draw you a warm bath and find you some of my clothes that maybe you'll fit into. You're small though, so don't expect a lot. I have a washer in the cellar outback, so I'll wash what you have on now. I'll build a fire and make you some food. You can sleep in my bed tonight and we'll figure out how to get you moving again tomorrow."

His voice had a hint of finality to it, hinting that Clary couldn't argue if she wanted to and she certainly didn't want to. This was more than for what she ever could've hoped. One part of his plan, though, absolutely wouldn't do.

"I won't take your bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

He cocked an eyebrow at her in surprise and retorted, "You're not in a position to debate, mystery firecracker."

"Mystery firecracker?" Clary asked, wrinkling her nose at him.

"You're a mystery with red hair and I can already tell you're going to be a pain in my ass. So, yeah, mystery firecracker will do. You could always tell me your name and put an end to my heinous nicknaming," he quipped, his naturally impassive voice tinged in curiosity.

"I won't take your bed, blondie. That's final. You can sleep on the couch if you want, but I'd sleep on the floor sooner than I'd take your bed," Clary concluded, blatantly ignoring his request for information. Her mouth was set into as firm a line as her position was on the bed.

He let out a sigh, the corner of his mouth lifted in amusement, before turning away from her and making for one of the doors she'd noticed earlier. He paused for a second, his hand on the doorknob, and surprised her by saying, "The name is Jace. Fine, you can have the couch."

It was only after the door shut and she heard the sound of water running that she released a breath she had unintentionally been holding.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I've been getting some interest in this story by way of people following it, for which I'm extremely grateful. I'm incredibly pleased that this many people are at least curious to see where this story will go. Frankly, same. I feel like people may not be sure what to make of this story thus far (whether they like it or hate it; good or bad; well-written or awful; etc.) which is totally fine. It's early. I suspect that most of this story will be romance-y, character development and whatnot. If characters seem OOC right now, hopefully as the story progresses you'll get to see more of my characterization of these two and perhaps change your mind about them being OOC. If you do have any comments, questions, suggestions, complaints, etc. please write a review and let me know. I'm trying to improve as we all are. So help me out there. Thanks for reading this and enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: Wouldn't it be nice if I'd written this series and these characters? *sigh* Then I'd have a show coming out and money and success and self-respect…. That'd be rad.**

Chapter 4

Jace rifled through his drawers, taking his frustration out on his defenseless clothes.

He really had no right to be frustrated though. He could tell that the girl would be defensive and difficult from the get go and he'd brought this upon himself by getting involved with her in the first place. At the very least, he should've dropped her off at the inn, but he couldn't bring himself to disregard her wishes completely.

But he couldn't regret his decision to bring her here though. For some reason, he felt comfort at the knowledge that he'd be able to personally make sure that she was okay and, frankly, the prospect of spending more time with her wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Even though she'd probably spend most of that time glaring at him.

He slammed another drawer shut in frustration before taking a shuddering breath. Damn, she was really getting under his skin. He shut his eyes and forced himself to calm down. If he couldn't soothe his own frazzled nerves, he'd be completely unable to convince her to let down her guard and relax. He needed to exude confidence and strength because she was seriously scared, both of her situation and of whatever she was running from.

But it was harder than he was trying to make it look. He was only loosely concerned with the reason for her circumstances. The girl was maybe 5'2. He doubted she was trying to escape anything to scary. Perhaps an abusive boyfriend or an alcoholic parent. Maybe she was running from an embarrassing situation at her last town. He doubted she was running from the law like he'd assumed earlier. It didn't matter, so he gave it very little thought.

He was intensely uncomfortable with someone in his home. For as long as he could remember, his home had been his sanctuary. He rarely even let his closest friends inside, choosing instead to immediately usher them into town when they stopped by on a visit to their old stomping grounds. He'd always been an intensely private person and, by letting that girl in here, he felt like he was showing her something very private, even if she didn't realize it.

And she wouldn't even give him her damn name.

Jace let out another sigh and forced himself to begrudgingly recognize how much trust she was placing in him. She clearly was a loner and smart enough to know not to trust strange men, but she'd allowed him, sort of, to take care of him and told him that she was in trouble, albeit she offered no information about the kind of trouble in which she found herself. And currently, she was taking a bath in the other room while he found her clothes and made her food. She was completely defenseless, so she'd given him that much.

 _And that's enough_ , Jace reminded himself. She'd be gone tomorrow. He didn't need to know her name.

He opened the drawer again, his mind more resolute on the goal at hand. He'd accepted the fact that everything he had to wear would be way to large on her. So, he settled for a pair of sweatpants and a soft, green long-sleeved shirt. Even though she'd look silly in his large clothes, she'd be comfy.

 _And she probably looks good in green_ , Jace mused absentmindedly, barely noticing that the thought crossed his mind.

Clothes in hand, he left his bedroom and made his way to the bathroom. Tentatively, he knocked on the door, receiving a muted hiss from the cat from the other side of the door where he was surely standing guard over the fiery stranger. Jace had never considered cats to be incredibly loyal creatures, but this one was proving to be an exception. The cat's protectiveness over the red-head was… cute. He imagined that it wasn't hard for one to feel protective of her.

Shortly after, Jace heard a quiet, "Hush Simon," followed by a louder, "Yes? Please don't come in."

 _Simon_. At least he got to know the cat's name. It suited the awkward, curly-haired animal.

"I won't. I have some clothes for you. I'm going to place them right outside of the door so that when you're ready, you can just reach out and grab them. Then I'm going to pop out for some firewood, so if you hear the front door open and close, don't worry. It's only me," he assured, unsure as to why he was so thorough. He was vaguely sure that he'd mentioned starting a fire to warm the place up even further despite the thermostat on the wall set to 65 degrees and, even if he hadn't, she was capable of guessing that he'd just stepped outside to get something. He was clearly trying too hard.

"O-okay. Thank you," she answered in that uncomfortable way she had when expressing gratitude. Clearly she was out of practice with the concept because every time she did so in even the slightest way, her voice sounded stiff and unnatural, though he had no doubt her gratitude was genuine.

Taking that as his cue to leave her alone, He placed the clothes right next to the door, so that she'd only need to pop a hand out to grab them and didn't risk putting herself in an uncomfortable position. Satisfied with one task done, he moved to the next and quickly moved to head outside. The locked front door gave him slight pause, as he was unfamiliar with that form of resistance, but he reminded himself that it made her feel safer, and moved on.

He stacked his firewood to the side of his house, so he quickly ran down the steps, cursing the biting cold, and loaded his arms with enough firewood for the night before making his way back inside. He turned around from locking the door just in time to catch a small, pale hand peeking out from the bathroom grab the clothes and shut the door again.

He breathed a sigh of relief. She was almost done, so that meant that they could talk soon. Maybe he'd get some answers from her this time, although he doubted she'd offer him much clarification. The thought bothered him, although she had every right to her secrets. He was merely curious. Yes, curiosity explained why the idea of her being unwilling to open up to him bothered him so much.

Considering the idea that if she walked out to find him standing there staring at the door she'd think he was creepy, he moved to his limited kitchen and began to think about what to feed her. He didn't know if she had any allergies or other food related issues and he certainly wasn't aware of any preferences she may have had, but, when he was holding her, she felt like little more than a bag of bones. She probably usually sported a lithe frame, given by her height and the fact that her clothes weren't gaping on her, but he doubted she'd eaten a lot on whatever journey she was taking. So, he figured that she didn't have a ton of room to be picky.

Opening his fridge and scanning its admittedly meager contents, he landed on making omelets. He had eggs and cheese, so it'd be easy to do and hopefully she wasn't picky.

He'd just started actually cooking the egg when she left the bathroom. She'd been there a little too long to have been getting dressed, leaving him to imagine her hiding in there to avoid him.

He'd attempted to look up at her and offer a cool look, like he was unaffected by a stranger in his house, but the sight of her in his clothes made him burst out laughing.

"It's not funny," she protested, running her fingers through her wet hair nervously, her eyes indignant.

Before him stood perhaps the shortest, smallest girl he'd ever seen in the baggiest clothes he'd ever seen. His green long-sleeved shirt, which fit him perfectly, reached down to her knees and hung loosely around her small frame. The sleeves were cuffed several times to her wrist, but they looked like they were in danger of sliding over her hands despite her efforts.

The sweatpants were a similar story. It was clear that she'd folded the waistband significantly and pulled the drawstring as tightly as she could because she didn't hold them up as she walked, suggesting that they probably fit around her frame enough to be manageable. The bottom, too, she'd cuffed so that she wasn't tripping over the legs, revealing a pair of dainty pale feet and just a hint of her ankle.

Combined with her wet hair, which curled loosely around her face and was bereft of its usual volume, she looked unbelievably small.

"You're totally right," he amended, straightening up for a moment before let out another round of boisterous laughter, "It's hysterical."

"It's not my fault that you're a giant," she grumbled good-naturedly as she approached the island that separated his kitchen from his living room. He noticed Simon dart so that he was next to her by the island. Hidden from view on the other side of the island, he had two wooden stools. Grabbing one, he moved it into her line of sight before returning his attention to the eggs.

Her eyes were almost as fiery as her hair and Jace was beyond amused.

"It's not my fault that you're a midget," he countered, chancing a mischievous glance in her direction to catch the glare she threw his way. Seeming to understand his unspoken offering, she grabbed the stool and pulled it over to the counter sitting opposite from him. With an effort, she pulled herself into the stool, only furthering his amusement and darkening the shade of red her cheeks had turned.

"Are you this rude to all of your house guests?" She asked, her arms crossed in an attempt to appear more irritated than he suspected she actually was.

"Yes," he answered easily. _Considering you're the only house guest I've had in years_ ….

He finished her omelet and moved it to a plate before sliding it in front of her and grabbing her a fork.

She eyed it warily, casting a suspicious glance to Jace. He scoffed, "It's an omelet, not a stick of dynamite. Just eat it."

Her blush spread to her forehead and her glare deepened, but she took a bite anyway, chewing slowly, methodically as if she'd be able to taste if it were poisoned. When she swallowed, Jace felt obliged to add, "I wasn't sure what you liked, obviously. Hopefully you're not opposed to eggs."

She didn't reply, but instead chose to take another large forkful and chew more quickly, as if through this she could show her approval.

 _Baby steps_ , he mused, turning back to the stove and beginning his own omelet.

As he waited for it to finish, he felt her gaze on him, rather than saw it. He was beginning to learn that that gaze of hers was immensely powerful. He always could tell that she was looking at him without actually needing to verify it. He just felt something like a pull in her direction, as if his eyes were eager to match hers in intensity.

Without so much as a glance in her direction, he pasted a cocky smile on his face and teased, "Are you sure you don't want a picture of me? Something you can gawk at when you're gone?"

He heard a surprised little gasp come from her direction and turned his head to look at her in surprise, taking in her still scarlet face and how quickly she tore her eyes from his.

 _So she handles banter like a champ, but gets embarrassed by jokes about being attracted to me? Good to know_.

"I can call you a midget without complaint, but I imply that you're staring at me because you think I'm good looking and you look ready to bury yourself alive?" he asked, half bewildered and half amused.

She returned her gaze to his and immediately denied, "I was not _staring_ at you!"

He rolled his eyes at her and moved his finished omelet to another clean plate. He sat himself down on the other stool so that he was directly across from her and quipped, "You most definitely were, firecracker."

"I was not staring at you," she contested, hotly, her voice gaining volume.

He shifted his expression from cool to openly amused, offering her a smirk before retorting, "So you think I'm good looking then?"

If it were possible for someone to spontaneously combust, Jace was sure that this girl would have done so. She was equal parts embarrassed and furious and it showed in the blush that had dominated her face and began creeping down her neck. Jace idly wondered if her entire body turned that pleasant shade of red when she was embarrassed.

"I never said that I think you're good looking," she argued, breaking Jace free from his distracting thoughts.

"You never denied it," he stated simply, his expression now changed from cocky to smug.

"That doesn't mean anything," she tried feebly, losing steam now that she'd basically lost this argument.

"Are you denying it?"

To punctuate his question, Jace shot her his trademark million dollar smile, which she scrutinized carefully. It wasn't the usual reaction he received from women. Typically the response was more of the "swooning" variety, but he almost always at least got a smile from the recipient. The crease in her brow deepened as she studied him and her face was set in irritation.

"Are you always this annoying?"

His eyes widened slightly in surprise and he dropped the smile for a grin instead. This girl was certainly not what he'd expected.

"Usually," he replied nonchalantly, starting in on his eggs.

"If I'd known you'd be this annoying, I would've preferred freezing to death, I think," she teased, her eyes light. She'd cleared her plate, a sight which pleased Jace to no end.

"I think you need a little annoying in your life."

She snorted, far from gracefully, in response and asked, "And why is that?"

He shrugged and hesitated before saying, "It's really hard to be annoyed by something and scared by it at the same time."

This time, he studied her as she paused. She clearly hadn't expected that response and seemed a bit shocked at the realization that she wasn't scared of him. Her pink mouth opened slightly in something akin to a jaw drop and her brow furrowed in confusion rather than irritation. She stared at some point fixed behind him for a moment, before finally locking eyes with him again. Her gaze was no less intense, only this time he matched it. Jace didn't know what it was about her, but he was finding it difficult to escape eye contact with her.

He was finding it even harder to want to escape.

After a while, she muttered simply, her voice somewhat hoarse, "Thank you."

She could've perhaps explained why she was grateful or why she needed his help in the first place. She could've admitted that she was glad he came along and forced his help on her. She could've probably included a couple things to round out those two words, but she didn't need to and he didn't need to press it. Her eyes shone with gratitude. Her skin, while still pale, looked more natural and less sickly. There was a tension she'd held before that was now eased. He could see all of this and the pride he felt in knowing that he was the cause was more powerful than any words from her could ever be.

Then, when he thought that the moment was perfect and nothing more needed to be said, she quietly added four words that set their path in stone.

"I go by Clary."

 **P.S. What do you guys think about the show? Are you nervous about it? Are you excited? Do you hate the cast already before the show has started? Let me know how you feel. Perhaps we can fangirl together.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for the attention guys! I'm pretty pleased with the amount of people that I think are reading this story because I didn't think anyone would really read it. I'm excited about where this story is going and I hope you guys are too! Please review and let me know what you think, where I can improve, and where you think the story should be heading. Also, I loved the first episode of** _ **Shadowhunters**_ **. What did you guys think? Leave me a review or PM me to let me know! Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my own ideas. You'll notice none of those ideas are profitable. Hence, why I'm writing fanfiction in the first place. -_-**

Chapter 5

Clary woke up more confused than she'd been in a while.

Initially, her confusion was solely of the typical "where am I" variety. She blearily opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling and blinked repeatedly in an attempt to recollect fragments of the night before. This was nothing new for her, as she'd been waking up in new places for a little more than a month, so she thought nothing of it. She received a little bit of start when she finally did piece together everything that had happened. It was certainly more intense than she'd experienced since leaving.

She thought over this man, Jace, who was certainly something of an enigma. Aside from being perhaps the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, he also was one of the most bizarre.

For one, he lived in one of the smallest, homiest towns in existence, but found refuge in a small, borderline creepy cabin just outside of it? She'd expect someone who hid out in a cabin to be something of a shut in, but he was clever and cocky and lively.

She had no doubt that Jace was probably something of a charmer and a lady's man based off of how easily he'd teased her earlier. It was also fairly obvious that he knew exactly how handsome he was and he _was_ annoying.

All of this contrasted with other attributes about him she'd noticed. Not really the fact that he'd decided to rescue her, as any decent human being might have made the same decision, but he could've very easily just dropped her off at the inn. He didn't even know what secret of hers he was protecting, but he did so anyway. He'd so instantly trusted her and _cared_ about something in which he'd held no responsibility to care. His treatment of her while she was with him, though he'd teased her, was incredibly gentle.

While he'd been gentle, he'd been anything but expressive at first. Clearly something had changed for him while she'd been taking a bath because she came out to find him smiling, joking, and laughing where before he only offered her the barest hints of a smile and stifled jokes.

So, needless to say, she was confused by her host.

The most confusing part of her morning though was waking up in a bed, when she distinctly remembered falling asleep on a couch.

Clary hesitated before moving, taking in the scene before allowing her frustration to lead her. She allowed herself to appreciate the softness of his comforter and how, for once, she'd been saved from a sore back. It'd been a while since she'd slept on what she could accurately describe as a mattress, rather than two pieces of cardboard. She scanned the room from her spot in his queen-sized mattress, flattening the brown comforter so that she could get a more complete view of the room.

She didn't have to wonder if this was his because it was clearly the only room in the house and the lack of more than one set of pillows on the bed made it fairly clear that he lived here alone. She tried to ignore the way her chest felt lighter at the realization, knowing that she didn't have it in her to wonder why that was.

The room was just as barren as the rest of the house. Clearly this stranger lived his life as a statement in minimalism. Next to the bed, there was a chest of drawers with a lamp and a framed photograph. Behind the headboard of his bed was one window, covered by thin green curtains, through which only a little light spilled through, basking the room in a lovely emerald glow. Her fingers itched to paint the lovely play of light, but she'd put the artist in her on hold until she was safe enough to let her guard down. The walls were tan, making the room appear darker than it was, and the floor was hardwood, causing her to wince at the prospect of putting her bare feet down on the cold surface.

It was warm in the house, Clary noted pleasantly. It'd been admittedly pretty chilly when they'd arrived last night but the fire had done a lot to warm it. She also suspected that there was a thermostat somewhere as this house wasn't nearly as rustic as the outside suggested.

Jace's clothes also did a lot to keep her warm. Clary had always been a fan of dressing comfortably, but Jace's clothes were almost on a new level of comfy. His sweatpants were expectably soft, but his long-sleeved green shirt was incredibly soft and it smelled earthy and pleasant.

 _Like him_ , she added reluctantly, not stopping to ponder how creepy it was that she liked how he smelled.

Allowing herself another moment, she buried her face in his blanket and inhaled deeply, pretending for just a second that this was her room and that she was safe. With a sigh, she pushed herself up and rose to her feet, wincing at the contact of her feet on the cold ground, and moved to the door, her hand freezing on the doorknob. She cast a curious glance to the photograph on his chest of drawers and hesitated for a moment before approaching it. After scanning the room for any signs that she was about to be interrupted, she gingerly picked up the frame, scanning the faces of the people in the photo.

Before her were three strangers with Jace, two of whom looked to be about his age and looked nothing like him. There was a girl and a boy, who were clearly brother and sister and impossibly beautiful. The guy was a little shorter than Jace and clearly very muscular, despite his thin, wiry build. His skin was incredibly pale which contrasted amazingly with his dark hair and striking blue eyes. His face sported a shy, light smile, leaving Clary to wonder why someone so handsome would be shy.

His handsomeness didn't quite compare to Jace though. While this boys features seemed to be all about intensity and contrasts, Jace's features, with the exception of his angular face, were soft and light. In the picture, Jace's face was fixed in a pleasant smile that almost made him look like he'd been caught off guard. There was nothing hidden in his smile. No pretenses or cockiness. Clary found herself mesmerized by his expression. How was it that he'd just gotten even more attractive?

In between the boy and Jace stood one of the prettiest girls she'd ever seen. She was tall and thin, but in a toned, healthy way rather than sickly. Her hair was long and gorgeously inky black, managing to achieve a smooth sheen that Clary's own curly locks never could. Like the boy, she was rather pale, but her eyes were a dark brown rather than the boy's luminous blue ones.

Also unlike the boy, her eyes exuded confidence and the wide smile that she sported held no traces of shyness, just joy.

Clary eyed the arm that the girl had carelessly tossed over Jace's should with a hint of anxiety, more aware now than ever just how out of her league she was here.

The third stranger in the picture was a small boy, standing in front of the gorgeous girl. He couldn't have been older than 7 in the picture and he was clearly related to the girl and the boy. He was short and thin and pale, like his relatives. His eyes were more similar to the boy's blue ones, as they were grey, and his hair, though a shade lighter than the older two's, was a dark brown that was similar enough. His eyes were covered by large, clunky glasses that reminded her of a friend she'd had when she was younger. While his older relatives, siblings Clary guessed, were oozed beauty, this boy was completely adorable.

She found her eyes drawn to Jace's face once more. He practically seemed to glow in the photo and it wasn't just due to his golden tan and hair, which curled slightly at the neck. His face was lively, unburdened and exuberant. He just looked so… happy.

Clary absentmindedly found herself wishing she could be on the receiving end of that smile.

Blinking confusedly, like she was breaking out of a trance, Clary set down the picture quickly like she'd been burned.

She stepped away from it as if by putting distance between herself and the picture she could put distance between herself and her traitorous thoughts. With a sigh, she resolved to remove those thoughts from her mind and focus on getting out of here as quickly as possible.

 _And then what?_ She asked herself, gloomily.

She had no plans, no money, and no more options.

Clary shook her head to clear her thoughts of her anxieties. She avoided thinking too far ahead for this reason exactly. It bogged her down and she needed to keep moving.

 _I'm not far away enough yet_ , she chanted, reciting her thought like a mantra.

With this in mind, she ventured outside of the safety of his room and scanned the cabin for her host. She was surprised to notice that the cabin looked nice in the daylight. Almost… welcoming. She ventured to the living room area, taking note of the pillow and blanket on the couch. So Jace slept there last night. She'd have to talk to him about that.

 _Why bother?_ Her mind wondered, reminding her that she'd be out soon so there was no reason to scold him. The thought unsettled her and left her mildly frustrated. These thoughts were getting annoying and they certainly didn't help her cause.

She heard the sound of water, which she hadn't even noticed was running, turning off and turned towards the bathroom instinctively. When she heard the doorknob turn slightly, she realized her mistake, but a half-naked Jace strode out of the bathroom before she could remedy it, giving her quite an eyeful.

And what an eyeful it was.

Clary found herself facing the most gloriously toned, tan chest she could ever even imagine. Not that she was surprised that the parts normally hidden from view were as appealing the parts that weren't. What did surprise her though was the presence of a myriad of black tattoos encircling his biceps dipping to his lower arms. A few of the tattoos extended up his shoulders and down his sides, flickering slightly on his torso. They were odd, just a collection of lines and shapes that seemed like parts of another language.

But they were beautiful.

He'd clearly just stepped out of the shower, as his hair was wet and slicked back so that it didn't hang on his face, but one tendril was stuck to his forehead, curling slightly there. He held a towel around his hips and lower body, but it hung low, so she got a very complete picture of his almost picturesque chest.

The thought of running her hands down that chest flashed in her mind, making her cheeks redden. Clary's jaw dropped open slightly and, though she knew she must have looked ridiculous gawking at him, she could do nothing to stop herself.

She felt her hand twitch lightly, a surefire sign that her body wanted to draw what she saw, even if her mind wasn't quite up to the task, given it was completely fried.

He froze when he saw that she was in the room and scanned her, as if he wasn't quite sure why she was staring at him, but then the corner of his mouth quirked up as realization dawned on him.

When her cheeks caught fire, he actually let out a laugh, causing his stomach to quirk in a way that moved his abs in a way that was utterly delicious. She felt her flush spread down her chest and her breathing become uneven.

"Are you feeling ok there?" Jace asked, his smirk now a full-blown smile.

"Huh?" was all Clary could manage, although she did manage to meet his golden eyes which were now twinkling with amusement.

"You look a little more red than usual over there. Is something the matter?" he asked, his tone joking as he held her gaze steadily. He took a slow step forward, causing her to stumble back a little, the action earning her another laugh.

He looked down and shook his head before finding her eyes again and asking, "How old are you exactly, firecracker? I'm concerned that the way you're eyeing me up is a little inappropriate if you're 12, which your height suggests."

She scoffed, feeling her face heat up even more, this time from embarrassment, and quipped, "I'm 18 and you're still a jerk," lowering her tone and her eyes to her feet a moment, she continued, "I was just surprised."

He laughed again, making Clary find his eyes again, studiously avoiding his chest this time, to glare at him.

"Good," he answered, quirking an eyebrow at her, "Is this the first time you've ever been around a shirtless man, Clary?"

She fought against a shudder at the sound of her name on his lips. It was perhaps one of the most attractive sounds she'd ever heard and she flushed even more, hoping that he dismissed it as embarrassment.

She thought back to her inexperience as she struggled to find an answer to his question. Frankly, she hadn't really seen anyone shirtless. Only one and that memory filled her mouth with a sour taste.

 _But he doesn't need to know that_ , Clary thought to herself stubbornly, determined to wipe that smug smile off his face.

"I assure you that you're not the first and you won't be the last," she stated with an air of indifference, cocking her eyebrow at him in challenge.

This time it was him that flushed. She watched as his muscles tensed and saw something flash in his eyes that she couldn't identify. He definitely looked uncomfortable.

She tried not to think about why he would be uncomfortable with her answer and instead tried to find satisfaction in being the one to knock him off balance rather than the other way around.

"I suppose not," Jace finally muttered, not quite meeting her eye, before turning and disappearing into his room.

Clary released an unsteady breath, relieved when some of the pressure left her chest and she could breathe again. Her face instantly felt ten times cooler and her brain became clear enough to wonder what the _hell_ that moment was.

She felt something furry rub against her leg and allowed Simon to distract her. She bent over to pick him up and wondered if it'd be too much to ask Jace if he had a can of tuna lying around. Simon usually left while she slept to eat rodents. Clary knew that her furry friend didn't particularly care for it, but even he could tell that they were in too tough of a spot for him to rely on her to feed him. Last night, he'd sat on the arm of the sofa by her feet, keeping watch. Obviously since Jace moved her last night, Simon had been transplanted as well. Clary didn't know where he'd slept, but she figured he'd probably kept an eye on Jace and didn't get a chance to hunt.

"Poor Si," Clary cooed, earning herself a lick on the face and a look that read as embarrassed even on a cat.

Clary wandered over to the kitchen, hoping to check the stove for the time, when she noticed that the counter was cluttered with groceries.

"When did he have time to shop?" Clary asked herself aloud.

She hesitated before rifling through the bags, unsure as to whether or not that was crossing a line. She decided that considering she slept in his bed last night and saw him nearly half-naked, it wasn't that invasive and looked through the bags anyway.

The first few bags had some essentials, milk, eggs, some cans of soup, ground beef and hot dogs, and other things that would probably feed him for the week. The last bag had a medium-sized box with a cat's face on it. Curiously, Clary reached in to pull it out, absently registering the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut.

Holding the box up to Jace, she asked, "You bought a bunch of cat food?"

Jace, now fully clothed in dark wash jeans and a red thermal shirt, shrugged nonchalantly as he strode up next to her. He began unpacking his groceries before casually answering, "You have a cat, don't you?"

Clary was flabbergasted. Jace didn't just buy a single container of cat food. Clary held in her hand a box full of at least 20 packets of cat food that would be incredibly easy to carry with her. It was just so _thoughtful_.

"I," she paused, not quite sure where she was going with that sentence, "You didn't have to do that."

Jace shot her an odd look and, with a horrified voice, responded, "And let your guard cat starve? No way. Who else is going to look out for you when I'm not there?"

Clary flinched at the reminder that she'd be leaving and struggled to shut down anything she felt at the gesture. It'd been a long time since she'd felt this strongly about a person in a positive way and she had a hard time identifying it.

"Thank you, Jace," she replied, catching his eyes to convey her sincerity.

He froze in his efforts to unload his groceries, can of chicken noodle soup in hand, in order to return the eye contact. Slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up into real smile.

Its effect on Clary was instant. Her cheeks got warmer and her own mouth turned upwards almost of its volition. The pressure in her chest that she'd felt earlier returned and Clary couldn't help but enjoy the sensation.

"Anytime," he answered, pausing. Slowly, deliberately, he added, "Clary."

Clary inhaled sharply, barely suppressing the shudder that wanted to rip through her. How could anyone make _her_ name sound so… special?

"I-I should go," Clary attempted, slowly pulling herself out of the trance, "Soon."

Jace blinked, as if taken aback, and Clary used that as her escape. She tore her eyes from his and focused on the cat under her arm watching their exchange with mild interest. Rubbing his ears gently, she tried to ignore the intensity of the gaze that lingered on her face. She wasn't sure how she could that he was looking at her, but she found that she always could. It was like a pull towards him every time he looked at her and resisting that pull was much harder than it should've been.

Before she could control herself, her brain briefly entertained the idea of staying. She had enough money to rent a room at the inn Jace had mentioned earlier for a few nights and she could get a job to keep herself there. When she had enough money, she could get a place of her own and see where… this… goes.

As if on instinct, her mind attacked the idea with familiar words.

 _Not far away enough. He will find you_.

Swallowing against the distaste the thought bred in her, she chanced a glance at him, returning his gaze.

He studied her, scanning her eyes like they held the answer to a question he'd been asking himself. After a moment, he averted his gaze with a sigh and agreed, "Right. If you say so."

Part of her thought he'd fight her on it, but clearly that part had been wrong. She should've felt relief.

So why was she so disappointed?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hopefully you guys like this chapter! I think this is sorta where things start picking up. Leave me a review to let me know what you think.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Chapter 6

Jace was unfamiliar with biting his tongue.

Despite the fact that he aimed to share very little, he could rarely keep himself from voicing his opinion, especially if the outcome was important to him. Even if he didn't necessarily say exactly what he meant, he usually at least offered a snide remark to make it clear what he thought of an idea.

So it was an oddity for him to be looking at Clary with his mind screaming at him that letting her go was an _awful_ idea and to not say anything.

Especially considering how important her outcome was to him.

He could already imagine himself scouring the news for the headline that read "Small redhead found dead" until something from her proved that she'd made it to wherever she felt she needed to go. Anxiety applied pressure to his chest gradually starting from when she first told him that she needed to go to this moment, outside of the bus ticket station.

When she'd told him that she'd like to leave soon, he jumped into action as soon as he could pull his heart out of his throat. Quickly, he'd made her a breakfast of toast and cereal and, while she'd eaten, he pulled her clothes out of his drier. He didn't ask for permission before loading them into her bag, which she'd discarded by the couch the night before, and this earned him her curious stare as he worked, but otherwise she raised no complaints. He'd washed all of her clothes last night, rather than just the ones she'd been wearing, though she hadn't asked for it.

So after putting them back, he'd handed it to her and stated, "I think my shirt will keep you warmer than any of yours, frankly because mine isn't paper-thin. Are you opposed to just keeping it?"

She opened her mouth, clearly ready to argue with him. In an effort to convince her, he shot her what he'd hoped was a pleading look, causing her to hesitate and surprisingly agree, "I mean it can't make me look any shorter, so why not?"

Mild relief attempted to alleviate his anxiety to no avail.

"You can get changed in the bathroom. There's a brush in there and toothpaste that you can use."

She nodded and pulled what she needed from her bag, leaving it on the counter when she left for the bathroom.

When he heard the door shut, he let released a breath and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension in his shoulders. This all felt so _wrong_.

He fought the thought by grabbing her ratty black book bag and filling it with the cat food packets, relieved that her few clothes and the cat food left a lot of room in the bag. He'd purchased her granola bars as well when he'd gone out earlier that morning which she'd seen, but must have assumed were for him. Relieving the bars from the box, he poured them into her bag before slipping the full, reusable water bottle he'd purchased in as well. This way, as long as she could find any source of water, she wouldn't die of thirst, and the granola bars wouldn't hurt. Peeking over his shoulder to ensure she hadn't emerged, he hastily tucked $40 into a smaller pocket of her bag. He knew it wasn't a lot, but it was all that he had on him at the time.

She emerged as he finished zipping up her bag in the same thin jeans he'd found her in and his green shirt. She'd tucked it in so that it no longer hung to her knees and cuffed the sleeve up to her wrist. He was disappointed to note that her wild ringlets were contained in a tidy braid down her back. He really liked her hair when it was wild and he wasn't sure why, although this style did give him a clearer view of her lovely face.

She looked less sickly than she did yesterday and certainly less scared. Her fear seemed to be replaced by restraint though, as her pink mouth was drawn and her emerald eyes were carefully passive. Her posture was similarly rigid and Jace had a struggle reading her, which was a bit of a shock after experiencing her expressiveness the night before and even earlier that morning.

"Do you have a jacket?" Jace asked, knowing what her answer would be before she opened her mouth.

"I have my sweatshirt," she answered, averting her eyes as she approached him. She was doing that more and more lately, like she was scared that she'd find something she didn't like in his eyes.

"Clary," Jace breathed, pausing just long enough to draw her eyes to his, "It's January on the East Coast and, last time I checked, that bus is taking you North, which means it's going to get colder. You need a jacket."

She narrowed her eyes at him, frustration peeking out from under her mask of passivity, and retorted, "Well, I don't have one and I'll have to deal with it."

He tried, and failed, to suppress a smirk at her anger. She really was just so _cute_.

"I think my sister left one of her jackets here a little bit ago because it was a gift from me that wasn't _pretty_ enough. It'll keep you warm though and nobody is using it here, so really you'd just be giving it a good home. Think of it as adopting a puppy," he offered, his tone light and amused despite how awful he really felt.

He passed her on the way to his room to retrieve the coat, unintentionally pausing when he was right next to her before forcing himself to keep going. He wasn't sure why he'd stopped. Had he wanted to say something? Offer her a look? Had he expected her to do something?

It wasn't until he was pulling the light blue, puffy jacket out of the box underneath his bed that Isabelle had "left" behind when he'd given it to her and he felt his hand relax that it occurred to him that maybe he'd wanted to reach out and touch her.

When he returned to her, he found her gnawing on her lower lip and furrowing her brow.

When he offered her the coat, she held up her hands and stammered, "Y-you really don't have to - I mean it's not necessary. I'll be fine."

"It's just a coat, Clary," he insisted, wondering what had changed to make her so flustered. Though she wasn't blushing fiercely, Jace noticed her cheeks were slightly pinker than when he'd left the room.

"You're right," she breathed, offering him a smile that seemed forced, "It's really nothing like a puppy."

Jace let out a laugh, at least partially relieved that she'd accepted the jacket and wouldn't freeze to death right away. It seemed like he'd done everything he could to keep her alive.

 _Except for her to stay_ , his treasonous mind argued, reminding him yet again how awful he felt.

They walked side by side into town. It'd started snowing lightly overnight, so the ground was powdered in perhaps 2-inches of snow and every once in a while a gust of wind would loose some from the trees, resulting in what was frankly a lovely, soft snowfall that Jace was sure was only partially reminiscent of the beauty they'd missed.

They didn't really talk on the way. Jace was convinced that if he opened his mouth to make conversation he'd unintentionally beg her to stay even though it wasn't his place. She was a stranger. He had no right to keep her there and, frankly, he shouldn't have wanted to in the first place. Yet, no matter how many times he told himself that, he couldn't find any truth in his own words.

She, on the other hand, looked like perhaps she wanted to say something. She'd look at him a while, setting her heavy gaze on him which he'd steadily ignore, aware that he wasn't supposed to feel it like he did, and open her mouth, after which he'd turn to her with raised eyebrows, only to have her slam her mouth shut and look forward.

Her cat Simon mewed uncomfortably from the bag in his arms, obviously displeased with how much of his space Jace had given to other necessities, and Jace just forced his eyes forward to focus on anything but the girl who'd be leaving him behind.

When they reached the bus station, Jace saw the ticket salesman, Hodge, in his little booth, which he rarely ever left. He stepped forward, for some reason hesitant to give this man much contact with Clary, and, when they were close enough to the window, began, "Hi Hodge. I need to exchange a ticket. The midnight bus never came last night, so I need a new ticket for the next bus."

Clary shot Jace a look from behind him, obviously unclear as to why he wasn't allowing her to speak or even really be seen, but Jace ignored her, not quite clear why he was doing this either.

Hodge glanced at Jace with something akin to nervousness and replied, "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Wayland, but the bus isn't running again until next Sunday now. It's down for the week because of construction on the road just outside of town."

Jace's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he asked, "Since when? Why was no one in town told about this?"

Hodge frowned, the edges of his mouth turned down in disapproval, before answering, "I'm sorry again, Mr. Wayland, but the entire town discussed it at the last town meeting, from which I understand _you_ were absent."

Jace nodded slowly, his chest becoming lighter as he fought the odd desire to smile at this man, and concluded, "Alright. Well, I'll be back in a week then. Thank you."

Hodge nodded and offered Jace something cordial in return, but Jace was too busy running his mind over what this meant to pay him any mind. He turned to Clary and led her away from the booth easily, giving no heed to her surprising silence.

When they were far enough away, Jace started, "Well, that's unfortunate. I guess you'll just have to wait it out. You can stay at my house until the next bus."

He finally looked down to gauge her reaction, confident that this solution would be good enough for her, only to find her red-faced, and staring at him furiously. He cocked an eyebrow at her, silently asking what the matter was when she exclaimed, " _You_ planned this, didn't you?"

Jace held his hands out in front of him, in a gesture of surrender, and countered, "How could I have planned for there to be construction on the road? I didn't know you existed until a few hours ago."

"You knew about that construction last night when you took me with you. I missed my one chance of leaving this town quickly because _you_ were convinced that the midnight bus wasn't coming!"

Her chest was heaving and, despite how angry she clearly was, she looked close to tears. Jace had no idea why she was so upset. He was fairly sure that she had been hesitant to leave as well. After all, he'd taken great care of her and there was no way that he was the only one feeling this connection.

"First off, the midnight bus _didn't_ _come_. Second, if I'd left you there, you would've been dead in ten minutes without a doubt. And third, you heard Hodge. I missed the meeting," he argued, his tone defensive and frustrated.

"You're telling me you had no idea that there would be major construction on the only road out of town? Seriously? You live in the smallest town I've ever seen, so I doubt it," she scoffed, her hands fisted at her side.

"I live in a cabin, by myself, in the woods on the outskirts of a town. I get no visitors, no cable, and I only go into town to work, to pick up essentials, and to visit the diner. What gives you the impression that I'm up-to-date on the current events?"

Her jaw dropped and he could practically see her wheels turning as she tried to find something else to argue, but she remained silent and, when a few moments had passed, her shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

"What now?"

 _Good question_.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This chapter is a little shorter, as it's mostly just to get the story from point A to point B. Hopefully it's still good though. I hope to update soon though. Please shoot me a review to let me know what you thought of this chapter.**

Chapter 7

"You'll stay with me for the week."

Clary winced at the statement she'd known had been coming since she'd foolishly asked him what would happen next. Though she'd asked the question, she'd known what his answer would be. His restraint in attempting to convince her to stay in the first place had done little to convince her that he was actually supportive of the idea.

In his defense, he'd led her to his home, promising that they'd discuss it in privacy, and indeed waited until the door slammed behind them before making his stance clear.

Clary felt a wave of desperation wash over her at the prospect coupled with an undertone of relief, which only served to heighten her anxiety. Her mind reeled as she tried to find a reason, _any reason_ , to escape this situation.

"I can't," she stated, bluntly, hoping against hope that he'd accept that as her reasoning. One look at his stubborn expression and she knew that he wouldn't make things that easy for her.

"Why not?" he replied, his tone bored and his eyes impassive. Clary felt a rush of irritation rise in her at his glibness. She'd started to notice that he'd pretend he didn't care sometimes and Clary felt irrationally upset that he was pulling that move on her.

"I've already put you out enough and I need to keep moving," she argued, feeling justified in her answer. There was no reason that she should have to stay with him or that he should have to put up with her.

 _We're strangers_ , she reminded herself when she saw his eyes flash with amusement and felt her chest heat up in response.

"It wouldn't be putting me out and you can't walk anywhere. We're too far from civilization. It's just a week, Clary," he countered, switching gears so that his expression was calm and his voice soothing.

God, he was frustrating. One second he was a stone wall and the next he was gentle and soft. Getting a handle on him was proving to be borderline impossible.

"Fine, I can't leave, but I don't have to stay here. You said there was an inn, right?" she asked, letting her meaning sink into his golden head.

"I thought you were trying to keep a low profile? And I was definitely under the impression that you couldn't afford a room?"

His smirk was almost as infuriating as his use of logic against her and she struggled to keep her desperation from swallowing her whole as she tried, "It hardly matters now. I'm not going to hide inside all day every day for a week, so people are bound to see me. Didn't you say something about getting me a deal on a room last night?"

"For a night, I could get you a free room, but for a week it's a little harder. And there's also food you have to worry about paying for, so it sounds like I'd be paying for it. Save me a little money and stay here."

"I-I," she stammered, her eyes searching the room wildly for something other than his handsome, smug face to stare at as her mind struggled to find a reason for staying elsewhere, "I just can't. Alright?"

"Well I'm sorry Clary, but I'm going to need more than that if I'm going to let you freeze to death," he quipped, glaring at her lightly to portray his irritation, "What's the problem anyway? You know that I won't hurt you, because if I'd wanted to I would have before letting Hodge know he'd see you in a week, so why are you doing this?"

Why _was_ she so against staying with him? She knew that he was right in saying that she knew he wouldn't hurt her. Perhaps it wasn't wise of her, but she knew with absolute certainty that he would keep her safe. She trusted him already more than she'd trusted anyone in years, although that trust wasn't complete. It was also the smartest course of action and, frankly, her trust in him only served to make her anxiety stronger. She'd trusted people before and it had always been a mistake. This time, she was sure, would be no different.

Underneath that underlying fear, though, was the complete and absolute knowledge that at the end of the week she wouldn't want to leave if she stayed here.

It was a blow to her confidence to acknowledge that, despite all of her best efforts, she was growing attached to this man. While initially her attraction to him had been her strongest pull here, it had developed into something deeper. He was strange and confusing and she wanted, more than anything, to understand what was going on in his head.

 _I want him to let me in_ , she admitted miserably, fully aware of how strange and pathetic that string of thought was. She'd only _just_ met him and she already wanted to _know_ him, pretentious as it sounded.

If she'd allowed herself to continue on this path, she would've been forced to realize that she wanted him to know her as well.

Jace let out a sigh when it became clear that she wasn't going to answer his question and tried, "Clary, I know that we don't know each other, but," he hesitated for a moment. His words, when they finally did come were deliberate and focused. "But I _really_ don't want you to die. I know that's not saying much, but you're in for an incredibly rough time if last night was any indication. Please let me do what I can for you while you're stuck here. I can get you a small job so that you can make some money and not be stuck here. I'll buy you some reasonable clothes. I'll feed your damn cat. If you give me this, I promise I won't try to convince you to stay when the week is over."

His offer was good. Great even. More than for what she ever could have hoped. The prospect of a job, however temporary, gave her a bit of a rush. It seemed to be the only bought of _normal_ independence she'd get until she finally did settle down and then she'd be able to pay him back a little for all he'd done.

Honestly, spending more time with this interesting man seemed heavenly, especially with the knowledge that he wouldn't try to keep her there. She knew, well hoped, that if he didn't ask her to stay, she'd have no issue really leaving.

And, for that matter, why should she assume that he'd want her to stay? They'd only just met and, while he was doing his best to get her to stay with him, she knew it was only because he knew she had no other options. He was clearly just trying to be nice, so why shouldn't she stay?

Despite this conclusion, she hesitated before offering a response for long enough that he felt obligated to mutter a quiet, "Please."

Any protest she'd been concocting died in her throat at the earnest look in his eyes. Maybe he'd feel a lot better if she did stay. Maybe leaving would only serve to cause him distress, which was the last thing she'd wanted to do for him.

After a sharp inhalation, she finally agreed, "Fine. I'll stay. But I'm sleeping on the couch."

The smile he offered her in response was almost enough to make her forget her situation and apprehensions and imagine that this was just a normal conversation between two people where she'd said something to make him incredibly happy.

Almost.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

If Jace could have described the day in a sound, it would've been a sigh of relief.

Admittedly her agreement to stay with him immediately resulted in a list of at least ten things he needed to do in order to deliver on all he'd promised her, but even that did nothing to dampen the pure and utter relief at the prospect of spending at least a week with her.

He refused to allow himself to think about what he hoped to get out of this arrangement, but that didn't keep it from bothering him regardless. Jace prided himself on knowing himself exceptionally well. He aimed to understand, if nothing else, himself. He could control what he understood.

He couldn't understand his feelings for Clary.

She was stubborn and weird and confusing and he hardly knew her. He certainly couldn't say that he understood her in even the slightest measure, but he felt very strongly for her. Maybe it was because of how they'd met. She was a nice girl in trouble and he'd always had a protective streak, so it'd be easy enough to chalk whatever he was feeling up to concern and a desire to protect someone.

But even as the thought entered his mind he knew that he wasn't treating her like she was just anyone. Sure, he wanted to protect her, but it went deeper than protecting her life. If he'd been concerned solely with keeping her alive he would've dropped her off with the proper authorities as soon as he could have, but he'd instead actively fought to keep her by his side.

Of this he was sure, but how much deeper his feelings went for her he couldn't even begin to comprehend.

And he didn't want to. Not yet. That would only make things more complicated than they already were.

She was eyeing him warily from her perch on his couch with Simon on her lap, glaring happily at him, pleased that she was finally coming around and treating him with mistrust, as he dialed the number of the woman who'd raised him.

After her customary three rings, Maryse answered tiredly, "Lightwood Diner. Maryse speaking."

"Hey Maryse," Jace began, refraining from falling on his occasional address of "mom" with Clary so close, "I found someone who can help out at the diner. She can only stay for about a week but that's better than nothing, right?"

"Only a week? What am I supposed to do with someone for a week, Jace? I'm drowning here," she replied exasperatedly, which was more emotional than she usually got. Hers was the stony demeanor that his step-brother Alec had adopted and that he occasionally borrowed.

"She'll lighten your load long enough for you to get serious about finding someone else to work there," Jace retorted dryly, ignoring the nervous energy that moved in waves towards him coming from the direction of the couch.

She let out a sigh and paused for just long enough to let him know that she needed Clary just as much as Clary needed her.

"How early can she come in for an interview?" Maryse replied, her response prefaced by what sounded like the breaking of plates.

Jace smiled and shot Clary a thumbs up before replying, "I can bring her to you now. We'll be there in a few minutes."

"Bring her? We? Jace-" she began to question, her wheels turning, before Jace hung up the phone.

Clary rose to her feet even before Jace turned to face her and Jace couldn't help but notice the way her eyes lit up at the revelation that she'd be starting soon.

"Ok," he explained, "So that was Maryse. She runs the Lightwood Diner. Recently, the girl that was working for her transferred to a college out of the area and ever since she's been struggling, so she's desperate. That being said, you and I need to come up with a story for how we met and why you're staying with me. You'll need to make up a story for why you're in town and some other facts about yourself. How good are you at lying on the spot?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him and smirk, clearly amused, before quipping, "I've been on the run for more than a month. What do you think?"

Jace accepted this slip of information calmly. She didn't seem to realize that she'd revealed anything to him and, probably, she hadn't revealed anything important, but he stored it away, allowing it to fill in a small piece of the puzzle.

"I guess you must've had some practice then. So how do we know each other? Why are you here?"

Clary narrowed her eyes at him, something he'd noticed she did when she was thinking, as she tried to think of ways they would've crossed paths.

"Did you go to college?" Clary questioned, her mind still moving.

"You're 18, right?" When she nodded, he continued, "I dropped out before you would've started college."

She nodded, her eyes asking a question she didn't seem to want to ask. Without realizing that he'd done it, he guessed what she was thinking and answered, "I'm only recently 21. So I would be in my junior year, but I stopped attending after my first semester of my sophomore year."

He made sure to end his statement with a tone of finality that he hoped would prevent her from asking about why he'd dropped out of college. The thought of reliving the experience by telling her caused a stab of pain to shoot through him and he wasn't confident that he'd be able to keep himself from answering her.

"Ok well I get the sense that everyone in this towns knows everyone, so how would we have met?" she asked, obliging to his unspoken request.

"Maybe I worked for your mom while I was at college. I ran her coffee shop, or something, with you, which is how I know you'd be a great fit for the job," he provided, knowing that Maryse would easily buy the story of him working at a coffee shop while at college.

"And I'm on my back from a trip to the beach only to discover that I'm stranded here for a week and you, in an act of generosity for an old friend, are letting me stay with you because I'm a little short on funds. Where was your college?"

"I attended NYU," he answered, mildly impressed by the story she'd developed. Jace knew he'd have a tough time convincing Maryse that he'd befriended this girl, who seemed to be, at the very least, good and an even tougher time convincing her that he'd invited her to stay with him. She knew just how deeply he'd isolated himself, so he'd have to be adamant in convincing her that Clary was an exception.

Clary nodded, her eyes still glimmering with excitement, before she grabbed the coat Jace had given her and pulled it on, signaling that she was ready to go now.

Jace smiled lightly at her enthusiasm and concluded, "I have to go into town anyway for a job, so ideally Maryse will let you start right away. Is that alright?"

"Sure," Clary agreed, hesitating before asking, "What's your job?"

Jace shrugged and replied, "I kind of do a little bit of everything. Whatever needs doing is basically what I do. Today, I'm painting a house."

Clary hummed in acknowledgement, her eyebrows raised in surprise, prompting him to prod, "What did you think I do? Something akin to ax murder or perhaps did you think I was more fervent in my worship of Satan?"

Her cheeks reddened lightly, and her mouth formed an amused smile. She simply shrugged and stated, "It wouldn't surprise me."

Jace suppressed a smile and shook his head good naturedly at her, trying and failing to hide how much she amused him.

"You're going to have to leave your guard cat here, you know," Jace warned her, crossing his arms in an attempt to appear stern before her.

Clary's jaw dropped, clearly indicating that she had not been prepared for this, and Simon, as if he could understand what he'd said, hissed at Jace from his place at Clary's feet.

"I know it'll be tough leaving him here, but you obviously can't work at a restaurant with your cat," Jace reasoned, unsure as to why it was such a big issue.

"I, well, I… It's not me, per se. I don't want to leave Si here obviously, but I know I need to. I just don't think," Clary offered, trailing off as her eyes found her cat's and her hand moved to cover her mouth in a contemplative gesture.

Jace studied her for a moment, taking in the almost defiant look in the cat's eye as he did so, before realizing, "You don't think Simon will stay put. He really is _that_ loyal."

Clary nodded slowly, a frown line creasing her forehead as she tried to work out a solution. Jace could hardly suppress the sudden urge to reach out and smooth out the blemish that marred her lovely face. The desire alarmed him for obvious reasons, but not as much as the sensation of frustration that followed the urge did.

"Any chance he'd wander around town while you worked?" Jace asked, already guessing the answer from the way Simon draped his tale possessively over her legs. Her helpless expression only served to confirm his suspicions.

Jace raised a hand to stroke his chin and eyed the cat seriously. He could already imagine her objection to the suggestion of locking the cat in a cage for the day. The idea didn't quite sit well with him either, despite how much of a pain this cat was proving to be.

"Does it follow orders?" Jace questioned, earning himself a look akin to a glare from the cat.

Clary shrugged and answered, "Sometimes he'll stay if I tell him to, but very rarely."

"Well we'll have to hope today is one of those times. Ask him to stay outside when we get to the Lightwood Diner," he offered, unable to think of any solution that would be better. The situation would probably work itself out, somehow.

Clary nodded and moved towards the door, evidently impatient to start her new life.

 _Temporary life_ , he reminded himself halfheartedly, not quite believing the words as she offered him a hesitant smile and slid out the door.

There was nothing he could do but follow her.

 **A/N: Sorta filler-ish. It was inevitable though. I have to set the story up of course. Let me know what you think. The next chapter will hopefully be out soon.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Here's the new chapter! I hope you like it. Let me know what you think!**

Chapter 9

"There's still no sign of her, Mr. Morgenstern."

The hand clutching the wine glass of the man he'd addressed tightened almost imperceptibly, offering the large man a small glimpse of the rage his statement incited in his boss. Otherwise, his nearly black eyes remained cool and detached from the situation, as if he'd been told that he'd need an umbrella for the day.

Slowly, the Morgenstern exhaled slowly, as if he was exerting a good deal of energy in an attempt to remain calm, and the man flinched, knowing very well how true his observation could be.

"May I suggest that you simply work harder?" his boss drawled, slowly, carefully. His easy tone was not at all on the same page as his deadly eyes and white knuckles.

The man didn't hesitate to nod and sputtered, "O-of course. W-we'll double, no t-triple, our efforts. Hopefully we'll have located her by the end of the week."

Seeing this as his only chance to escape unharmed, the man turned and moved towards the door quickly.

"Wait," his boss commanded shortly. His tone allowed no room for disobedience and the man stopped in his tracks, convinced that if his shoulders could get any more tense they'd remove themselves from the rest of his body, taking his arms with them.

Smoothly he turned around, forcing his face into a mask of what he hoped was indifference, and offered a simple, "Yes, Mr. Morgenstern?"

The Morgenstern allowed the room to fall into silence for a moment, only serving to heighten the man's anxiety, before, in agonizingly slow movements, pushing his chair back and standing from his desk.

His boss walked around his desk and towards him with all the confidence of a shark moving in on its prey. It was all the man could do not to back away. When he was about a foot away from him, the Morgenstern stopped moving and placed a cold, pale hand on his shoulder. The man resisted the urge to shiver, but he was convinced that in any moment his stomach would revolt and he'd vomit on the spot.

Finally, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, the Morgenstern whispered, "If you fail me again, I'll be unhappy with you. I expect results by the end of the week. Otherwise, I'll have to make an example of you. Understood?"

His voice was smooth and confident and laced around the man with all the comfort of a noose. Dumbly, he nodded and muttered something that he'd never remember. All concerns for appearance out the window, the man stumbled out of his boss's office. When the door was shut tightly behind him, he leaned over and vomited noisily, semi-consoled by the knowledge that his boss would probably enjoy hearing the effects his words had on his subjects.

The Morgenstern hadn't laid more than a finger on him and yet the man felt as if he'd received a beating more intense than any he'd ever experienced.

For a moment, the man allowed himself to feel pity for this girl who'd run from him. He wanted her back very badly and he'd certainly make it so that she'd never leave again. Without a doubt, the man knew that this girl's fate, should she be found, would be worse than any death one could imagine for her.

He _almost_ hoped that he didn't find her.

Almost.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jace had done his best to prepare the girl walking next to him for her interview, but he was having difficulty predicting how Maryse would treat her.

Clearly he'd indicated that the two of them were, at least literally, together, which, for Maryse, was as good as announcing that he planned to marry her. Admittedly, he didn't often associate with women in nonprofessional ways despite the significant number of women in this town who'd wish he would. So perhaps her surprise at his advocating and, presumably, conversing with Clary was well warranted.

But Maryse was a wildcard, so there was always the possibility that she'd react normally and throw him completely off-balance.

As he vaguely warned her that she might be weird, it occurred to him that he could more clearly explain to her what she could expect if he'd only explain his relationship with Maryse or even mention that he was not often very social. For some reason, he felt that opening up to her in these ways would be too personal. He'd be giving her too much power to reveal his past in such a way and, in letting her know that she was an exception to his treatment of people, he'd be letting her know how much she already meant to him.

So he kept it to himself and wondered why he suddenly felt so guilty for not sharing when he'd lived this way for so long.

"You don't need to worry, Jace. I can handle myself. You've already done so much for me, so now it's kind of my turn to help myself," she stated, her voice resolute near the end of her statement. He felt the same sort of stiffness when she acknowledge that she was grateful in some way and was reminded of his conclusion that she must've been unaccustomed to people doing things requiring gratitude.

He nodded slowly, partially in an attempt to disguise just how carefully he was studying everything she said for fear that she'd begin monitoring her words more closely, and agreed, "I'm sure you'll be fine. I'm just worried she'll give you a hard time. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

She didn't reply, but shot him an odd look that indicated how odd she felt his statement was. Any consideration he'd had of asking her about her reaction died when he caught sight of the Lightwood Cafe ahead of them. He mentally cursed its relative closeness to his house for reasons he couldn't understand. It's not like there was any way he could've prepared her _more_ for what was to come simply due to the fact that he himself was not prepared.

When they reached the door, Clary paused, straightening her shoulders before placing her cat on the ground. She placed her forehead against his and began whispering to him as if he could understand her. The cat let out a sound that was reminiscent of a scoff, earning himself a scratch behind the ears. Finally, Simon purred and planted himself on the ground next to the door, supposedly to demonstrate that he'd sit there until she was done.

Jace didn't even have it in him to be amazed. Of course this cat could understand Clary. Of course it felt obligated to keep guard. Of course. The only thing that couldn't surprise him about this fiery girl was how constantly she could find ways to intrigue him.

Clary stood and turned to Jace with eyes blazing in determination. Offering him little more than a nod, she swung open the door and stepped inside. Surprisingly, Simon didn't not follow after her, leaving Jace to trail behind in her in wonderment.

The cafe was packed, as it usually was despite the size of the town. Nearly everyone in town ate at least one meal there and no one could quite resist Maryse's world-famous pancakes which, seeing as it was only about 10 a.m., were the specialty.

Clary earned herself a few curious stares as she approached the long counter separating the kitchen from the dining room, but she paid them no heed. She squeezed between two patrons seated at the bar and called out, "Maryse?"

Jace pulled up behind him and fought the urge to wrap a possessive arm around her as she caught the eye of a few of the male patrons in the café. After his spurt of jealousy earlier this morning at the mention of her seeing other guys, this reaction didn't necessarily surprise him though it did unnerve him.

After a moment, a familiar face emerged from the kitchen clutching two trays of pancakes. Her hair had grayed even more considerably from the last time he'd seen her, a clear indication of just how badly she'd needed Clary. Her eyes found Jace and travelled to Clary, to whom he was perhaps standing a tad too close. She cocked her eyebrow at the small girl and jerked her head to the left, indicating that she wanted them to move to the less crowded area of the bar nearer to her.

Jace placed a hand on Clary's arm to guide her in that direction and moved them to his surrogate mother, feeling his anxiety build as he did so. She followed eagerly and, to his surprise, didn't move her arm from his soft touch. And neither did he, so when Maryse placed down the orders at their appropriate tables, she found them connected in this way, with his hand on her arm, and immediately Maryse's expression twisted into one of curiosity.

Perhaps not the best way to start out Clary's interview.

Jace dropped his arm as Maryse neared and Clary, seemingly sensing his anxiety, offered him a confident smile.

"You must be the girl my son mentioned."

Jace almost flinched at Maryse's abrupt statement and Clary offered him a confused look before regaining composure and responding, "Yes. I'm Clary. It's lovely to meet you."

With a smile, Clary outstretched her hand to Maryse. Her confidence was so shocking that Jace almost failed to note how lovely her smile was.

Almost.

While her upturned lips didn't portray any of the easy happiness of someone who smiled often, they did demonstrate her real excitement and the genuine show of emotion from her didn't fail to affect him.

He decided that he liked how she looked when she was happy.

"It's a pleasure, Clary. I'm Maryse. I own the café," Maryse responded, shaking Clary's hand and observing her with the caution of a mother bear assessing a potential threat to her cub. "Where are you from?"

Jace was impressed that Maryse had started with a small question rather than immediately jumping down Clary's throat.

Clary didn't miss a beat in her reply of, "New York City."

"What are you doing in town?"

Clary wrinkled her nose at the question in a gesture that was embarrassed, drawing Jace into her web, before she answered, "This is embarrassing, but I was taking a road trip with my friend and we got into a massive fight. So, being the idiot that I am, I got out of the car and she drove off without me. I've been taking public transportation back but the buses are closed for the week, so I'm stuck here and in need of cash. Luckily," she added after a pause, placing her hand on Jace's forearm, "Jace has been kind enough to let me stay with him."

Maryse eyed Clary skeptically for a moment before turning her gaze on Jace. Her eyes were on him when she asked, "Are you and my son sleeping together?"

Clary's face grew at least three different shades of red and her jaw dropped. Jace immediately protested, "No. Dammit Maryse. Don't embarrass her. We're just old friends."

Maryse's face shifted to something akin to amusement and she examined, "How'd you two meet? She looks to be about 16."

"I worked at her mom's café with her while I was at NYU and she's 18. Now are you going to give her the job, or not?" Jace exclaimed, earning a few curious stares from people around them. He knew Maryse was only teasing and that Clary could handle whatever she threw at her, but he couldn't the rash of protectiveness that rose up in him. He didn't like the idea of people picking on her and he knew it was irrational.

Maryse cocked an eyebrow at his emphatic response and smirked lightly. Offering a nonchalant shrug, she answered simply, "Your apron is in the back. Wash your hands. You start now."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I'm updating super quickly because I'm feeling inspired. I hope this chapter is good. I'm getting some really great reviews! Please keep letting me know what you think about this chapter! I'm liking where the story is going and how it's turning out, but it's in the place where I could very easily screw it up. Hopefully I don't! Anyway, ignore me. I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything that actually makes money, so obviously that includes** _ **The Mortal Instruments**_ **and the like.**

Chapter 10

Clary felt uneasily about Jace's leaving at first and the feeling, frankly, didn't sit right with her.

She considered herself incredibly independent and the sensation of missing someone was one with which she was intensely unfamiliar.

But she _did_ miss him.

He'd lingered for a bit after Maryse had issued her order and Clary had adorned her apron. She'd set right out to waiting at tables, grateful that she had indeed worked at a coffee shop while in high school. She found it easy to slip back into the role of waitress and adapt to the differences between this café and Taki, which is the coffee shop she'd worked at just a few short months ago.

So much was different between now and then, the most notable thing being the gold eyes that met hers periodically.

He sat at the counter for a few moments and she could feel the weight of his observing eyes drape over her like a blanket of security. She found her gaze drifting over to him without even thinking about it and every time they did she found him watching her with an appraising look on his face. When he noticed her looking at him, he'd shoot her a small smile, to which she couldn't help but smile back lightly.

The experience was odd. Her she was, doing something she'd done a million times before, wait tables, and yet everything was different. She felt safer than she ever had and she had someone at which to smile.

She forcefully averted her gaze in an attempt to remind herself that she did not _have_ Jace. He was temporarily around, but he was in no way hers.

After maybe half an hour of taking orders and clearing tables only receiving a few curious questions from the townspeople enjoying a late breakfast, Clary felt Jace's hand land lightly on her upper arm, touching her with a gentleness that never failed to surprise her. Turning to face him, she noticed his face reflected discomfort, as if the words that would follow were going to cause him some pain.

"I have to get to work, unfortunately," he hesitated, his face registering surprising at his statement, "But you look like you've got a handle on this. If you need me, have Maryse call me."

Clary nodded, trying to stave off the rush of anxiety that was threatening to overwhelm her, and replied, "Oh ok. When will you be back?"

She hated how weak the question made her sound and heard her father's voice in the back of her head warning her that that weakness would be what he'd use to betray her. Blinking against the sentiment, Clary reminded herself that it was natural to wonder when he'd return considering their situation.

Jace frowned resolutely and answered, "Probably not until 5 or 6. Maybe I'll finish up early and loiter here to make sure you're – everything's ok, but I'm running behind as is."

Clary nodded and bit her lip to keep herself from asking him to stay. It'd be unreasonable and she'd be without him always soon enough, though she was loathe to acknowledge it, so she needed to reestablish the distance between them anyway.

"Have fun I guess," Clary concluded, trying to sound chipper when in fact she was hyperventilating internally. With the idea of Jace not being there, everything she was running from came back in an instant. While she'd felt safe in his presence, she was reminded of just how much danger in which she was really.

Jace hesitated again, something she noticed he did a lot. Clearly he was someone who liked to think through every move before making one. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand and moved it to brush a stray piece of hair from her face before retracting it. He'd been careful to avoid skin contact in the motion, for which she was grateful, but she felt a little breathless nonetheless. She hoped this effect he had on her was temporary.

"You're safe here," he stated without warning or precedent. "So try to relax. I'll be back soon. Just relax and don't," he paused, exhaling deeply, "Don't leave or do anything stupid, ok?"

Clary felt herself nodding before she even quite comprehended what he'd said to her. Some of her anxiety lessened and she felt her confidence grow. In that moment, she felt further away from her past than she'd ever been.

Jace smiled tightly at her once more before he turned from her and left the diner. Clary tracked his movements with her eyes, becoming slightly flustered when he paused to offer her one last glance, until he disappeared from view. When he was gone, Clary felt herself release a breath. She never realized just how tense moments like that were until they were over.

After allowing herself a moment to regain her bearings, Clary turned back to her job, not at all surprised to find that she'd gained the attention of those few patrons that remained at the café and Maryse.

Maryse simply cocked an eyebrow at her curiously before returning to the countertop she'd been wiping. With a slightly red face, Clary moved to check on the last few customers who lingered during the awkward period between brunch and lunch.

She made short work of the rounds, which was unsurprising considering how few people remained. In the corner of the charming café sat an elderly couple sipping coffee leisurely who'd wanted their bill. At the counter there were two girls who looked to be around Jace's age who eyed her with pure malice when she'd asked if they wanted anything before replying shortly, "No."

With no more work involving customers that needed to be done after providing the bill for the couple, Clary approached Maryse cautiously. She wasn't sure what to make of the older woman. The grey streaks in her dark hair made her look older and more tired than her years. It was clear to Clary that Jace's mother didn't trust her and Clary couldn't blame her. She _knew_ she was dangerous. Maryse only needed to suspect.

For some reason, Clary felt that Maryse wasn't scared about that. Frankly, everyone seemed to be eyeing her warily and with surprise, but clearly not all of them suspected she was a threat to Jace. They couldn't have known that it would've been necessary. So they were wary of her for another reason and she wasn't sure why. Surely, this man spent time with a lot of women, so she should, hypothetically, blend in as one of the many.

When she reached Maryse, she asked, "Is there anything else I can do while we wait for the next big shift?"

Maryse shrugged nonchalantly, her gaze level and probing on Clary while she answered, "Not really. You can sit on down and tell me about yourself because I'm finding you to be, perhaps, too good to be true."

Clary tilted her head at Maryse in confusion. This woman was impossible to read, a quality her son had clearly inherited. Obligingly, she slid into a stool across from Maryse and asked, "What do you mean?"

Maryse paused and, sighing lately, stated, "My son, the town recluse who ignores women with skill, brings in this small, sweet little person and pays more attention to her than he has to any woman in years. She's supposed to help me out and she's great at it of course. And, as a mother, my first reaction is that this is great. He's getting out of his slump. So, what's wrong with you? When is the other shoe going to drop?"

Clary wanted to get defensive and argue that everything was exactly as it seemed with her, but that had never been true with her, so she wasn't sure what she thought had changed in that aspect. She certainly felt more genuine now that she was living a lie than when she was going through the motions in her actual life.

 _No,_ Clary argued forcefully, _this was her life now_.

Nothing about what Maryse said was wrong. Jace very clearly had his focus on her, although Clary doubted it was for the reasons Maryse suspected. Even if it was for those reasons, Clary would be gone before anything came of it.

It surprised Clary to hear that Jace ignored women, although she wasn't sure why. Everything about his lifestyle indicated that he didn't get out much, but Clary found it difficult to believe that someone that, well, beautiful didn't get around. She certainly had no idea whether or not she was getting him out of any sort of slump, but finding the flaw for which Maryse was asking was simple, as Clary constantly felt the effects of it.

"I'm leaving in a week. That's what's wrong with me."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Morgenstern drummed his fingers on the table slowly, silently enjoying the effect it had on the man before him.

He knew he had a reputation for casual cruelty and he was unbelievably pleased with that status. In fact, he actively behaved in accordance with it. He was aware of how much more terrifying he was when he remained completely calm. It unnerved people and gave them the impression that he felt nothing, resulting in heightened fear when he demonstrated that he did indeed feel anger.

The man before him was remarkably formidable considering he worked in a bookstore and he was almost impressed with him.

Luckily, the Morgenstern had no issue torturing those he respected.

Despite his resilience, the man before him was exhibiting some signs of fear that he'd learned to look for at a young age. For example, his jaw periodically clenched and unclenched with the sound of his fingers hitting the table.

He'd been brought into the room maybe 10 minutes ago roughly by two of his men to a silent leader of the organization. And silent he'd remained. Admittedly, he'd hoped that his guest would crack first under the pressure, but, as it became clear that the man was determined to hold out for as long as necessary, the Morgenstern began calmly, "Where is she?"

He received a grin in response and slackening of the tension in his guest's shoulders, which shocked him undoubtedly, but he refused to reveal that to the man sitting before him. Clearly, this was going to be more difficult than scaring the average thug.

"You really think I'd tell you and betray her?"

He offered him an amused smile and met the man's eye easily, slightly perturbed by the lack of effect he was having on this stranger.

"You know what you remind me of, Luke?" he began, standing from his seat and moving to lean against the front of his desk. "A dog. No, a mutt."

Luke rolled his eyes at him and tried, "I wasn't going to tell you before but now that you've tortured me with insults I'm dying to tell you."

His smile widened and he continued, "Think about it for a minute. Unfailingly loyal. Always nipping at the heels of your master or really anyone who can give you a good belly rub. First Jocelyn and now Clary. It's really no wonder they both were so fond of you. Girls love dogs."

Luke's smile didn't falter but his eyes lost some of their cockiness as they became filled with anger.

"And what would you know about love?"

This time it was his turn to experience a rush of anger.

"I love Clary and she loves me," he protested, pausing to adjust his expression into one that was calculated, "And we both know Jocelyn never loved you."

The words hit their mark and his expression fell, being replaced entirely by anger. The two studied each other, looking for any signs of weakness in the other. The Morgenstern had rarely felt such a strong battle of wills and his respect for the man before him grew. He could see why Clary trusted him.

Without easing any of the tension from his body, Luke offered him an easy smile and stated, "You're right. I'm a dog. A mutt even. Unluckily for you, I'm more of a guard dog. So I won't roll over for belly rub. I'll die to protect Clary. You've killed Jocelyn, so all I have left is Clary. I've got nothing you can take from me."

The Morgenstern cocked an eyebrow at him, sensing that the mutt wasn't quite finished.

"You seem confused," Luke continued, affirming his suspicions, "Well, let me sum it up for you. I'll die before I let you anywhere near Clary."

He couldn't say he was surprised by the response but he was irritated regardless. He forced himself to smile coolly and retort, "I'm not going to kill you, Mutt, as much as I'd like to. Clary needs to know that she's alone in this world and I think the best way to tell her that would be to kill you in front of her. Or maybe I'll use you to keep her with me. We'll see. We've got time."

Luke's jaw clenched and he stood from his chair so quickly that the chair clattered to the ground behind him. At the sound, the two men who'd been standing outside rushed inside and grabbed Luke's arms to hold him back, although he hadn't rushed forward to attack the Morgenstern.

"We're going to have to keep you here, obviously, but don't think of it like that. Think of it as we're all waiting for Clary to come home together," the Morgenstern concluded, smiling evilly. The two men holding Luke began to drag him back.

He didn't struggle, but as they reached the door, he offered one last thing.

"You know she'd rather die than stay with you, right?"

And then he was gone somewhere to be locked in a dark room for who knows how long, being kept alive but just barely. The Morgenstern knew that Luke would be beaten and starved and tortured endlessly until finally Clary was returned to him.

So why did he feel like he'd lost today?


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry! I know it's been a longer wait than you guys are used to and for that I am sorry. In my defense, the last two weeks I've been slammed with papers and midterms and genuinely haven't had time. I'll try to be better and get back to my once a week updates. Hope you guys don't hate me and you haven't forgotten about this story! Let me know what you think! I know it's moving kinda slowly right now, but I kinda have to because the beginning of their relationship is important and requires a lot of subtleties and developments. It'll pick up though, I promise. Again, review please!**

Chapter 11

His absence from Clary was making Jace antsy.

His behavior at the house of the Blackthorns was borderline rude, although he was fairly certain that he was hired for the sole purpose of being set up with Helen Blackthorn, despite his not being Helen's type. Her type, a woman his age called Aline, also spontaneously visited whenever he was over to fix something.

The Blackthorn matriarch popped out of the house sporadically to "check his progress" only to be consistently reminded that he would tell her when he was done. Considering the frequency with which she popped out and asked him to come inside for refreshments, it almost seemed like she didn't actually want her house painted at all.

Not that he thought she did. It was winter after all and he'd painted the house less than 4 months prior. The Blackthorns hired Jace to fix something at least once a month because Helen's mother was convinced that Helen would be the one to "tame" him. Frankly, Jace wished she'd simply tell her family that she was interested in girls and end the charade. He knew the Blackthorns would be accepting and that Aline would jump right on the bandwagon. The two could be together and he would be able to stop doing silly things like painting houses in January.

Usually when she offered refreshments, Jace accepted or rejected her politely, but he was admittedly in a rush to get finished the base coat, so when she offered he'd jump and tell her he just wanted to finish for the day. He could see that he'd disappointed her, but he couldn't imagine being forced to make stilted conversation with a reluctant Helen while Clary was somewhere away from him.

He chalked his impatience up to concern for her on her own, though he knew Maryse would never let anything happen to her.

If he was being honest with himself, he'd admit that he missed Clary. He liked to be around her and when she wasn't around he couldn't get her out of his head. Clary was interesting and, despite how cold she attempted to make herself seem, warm. He felt like a moth attracted to her flame and he was pretty sure he had no ability to resist his inevitable combustion.

She made him different. She made him alive.

He hadn't even known he'd been dead.

Jace frowned as he examined the house. He'd only been able to base coat one side of the house and would've typically worked on it until he was finished at least the base coat, but, after one glance at his watch, he knew he wouldn't be able to wait the three long hours until five.

With a rough sigh, he grabbed his jacket and began packing up his station. He typically stored his dissembled scaffolding and paint cans in the Blackthorn's cellar, so, after cleaning up, he returned them to their place and called into the house, "I'm going to call it quits for the day, Mrs. Blackthorn. I'll be back tomorrow at 11 hopefully."

Before she could begin to protest or interrogate him, he set off for the café, pleased once more that he was his own boss.

The place was quiet when he arrived, as the only patrons were those finishing up their lunches, and even Simon was nowhere to be seen. His eyes spotted her almost immediately, as there was little they could do to resist her draw.

She looked just as lovely as he'd convinced himself he'd imagined her as. A few rebellious strands of hair had freed themselves from her braid and hung around her face in lovely tendrils. Her apron was white and made her already pale skin appear more porcelain. She was standing behind the counter at the cash register, putting some money into its proper place.

His eyes rested on her for maybe a few seconds before she froze in her actions and glanced up at him. As her eyes moved from the task at hand to his face, he noticed her confused expression, which cleared into understanding the instant she noticed him. He allowed himself to imagine that she felt the pull too, but even that he knew was fanciful.

Clary offered him a smile and, to his amazement, her face lit up like she'd been waiting for him, but hadn't expected he'd show. He felt his heart clench uncomfortably at the sensation, unbelievably pleased that he'd elicited such a reaction from her. His own face split into a wide grin, probably the most genuine expression of joy he could offer her.

Almost of their own accord, his feet moved him so that he stood right in front of her. She'd had an opportunity to register her reaction evidently, as her face shifted from pure joy to embarrassment. Embarrassment was better than nonchalance though, so he'd accept it and try his hardest not to attribute too much meaning to her actions.

7 days.

He had 7 days with her and he needed to remember that.

The thought sobered him slightly, but didn't entirely stifle the pleasure he received from being around her. As if realizing that he should probably say something, rather than stare at her more, he greeted, "Bored without me, red?"

Her smile faded as mock irritation took its place. She returned his gaze for a moment before focusing again on the task at hand.

"Actually the most boring part of my day would have to be right now, but I'm sure that's a coincidence."

His smile grew. Damn she was fun.

He leaned across the counter on his elbows so that his face was only inches from hers before answering, "That's because I haven't started entertaining you yet. Just you wait, Clary."

She offered him a raised eyebrow and quipped, "Why wait? Amuse me, blondie."

"Blondie?" he asked, amused that she'd given him a pet name.

Shutting the cash register drawer, she answered, "What? You think you're the only one who can give basic nicknames based off of hair colors?"

Jace placed a hand on his heart to feign offense and retorted, "Ouch. You wound me, firecracker. How's that? It's about your hair and your personality. Less basic?"

When she looked up at him, he batted his eyelashes at her dramatically and she couldn't react quickly enough to stifle her laugh, gaining them a few curious head turns from what few patrons there were. Jace vowed to commit that sound to memory.

"And besides," he continued, "Jace already is a nickname. It's short for Jonathan Christopher."

Clary tensed very visibly at his confession. Her hands stilled and he heard her suck in a breath as if he'd knocked the wind out of her. Before he could ask her what was wrong, she breathed in deeply and then released the breath, before resuming with restocking the napkin holders. Any eye contact they'd been maintaining was ripped away.

"Alright, you're gonna have to tell me what I did wrong with that one, because there's a bit of a disconnect on my end," Jace stated, trying to keep his tone light to disguise his concern.

She hesitated and he could almost see her choosing her words carefully before finally replying, "You don't look like a J-Jonathan. Jace suits you."

Jace nodded at her statement and considered whether or not he should press the issue. He didn't want to push her too hard because he knew that'd only serve to make her shut down. That was approximately the last thing he wanted, especially considering how far she'd already come to trusting him.

Despite this, there was a tension that arose when he'd mentioned his name and she'd said "Jonathan" like it pained her. This was clearly pretty serious.

"Clary-"

"Why didn't you tell me that Maryse was your mom?" Clary interrupted, turning her gaze to scrutinize him. Her tone was final and made it clear just how she felt at the prospect of more questions. Deciding he owed her an explanation, Jace bit his tongue and explained, "I didn't want to make you more nervous, I guess."

Clary's frown made it very clear how much she believed him and he mentally scolded himself for being such a hypocrite. Here he was wanting her to open up and yet he wouldn't do the same.

In an act of pure bravery, Jace amended, "That's only partially true. It felt like a really intimate thing to tell you for some reason. I didn't want to freak you out by introducing you to my mom and I wasn't ready to, for some reason. I'm not sure why, because now that you know it's very clear to me that it's not a big deal. I'm just not good at opening up to people for some reason."

Her frown faded into a look of surprise as she took in his honesty. Clearly she had not been expecting it and, for that matter, neither had he, but he wanted to be as honest with her as possible for some reason.

"So how has Maryse been treating you?"

She accepted his change of subject with a hint of relief, probably because she did not know what to do with his confession. If he was being honest, he didn't know what to do with it either.

"Really well. I don't think she trusts me completely, but I can't blame her. I'm pretty untrustworthy."

Her answer brought forth from him a booming laugh which, once again, earned them odd looks, though this time his fellow townsfolk were probably just surprised that he was laughing. He'd earned himself a bit of a gloomy reputation in recent years and he supposed it was well-deserved. He kept to himself mostly and, though he was often polite, he rarely truly smiled and meant it.

Yet here was this girl, with the face of an angel and hair that's on fire, whom he'd known her for not even 24-hours and he was laughing.

He shook his head, surprised to find a soft smile on her face instead of an embarrassed flush, and answered, "Oh yeah. You're positively diabolical in that shirt that's 5 sizes too large. I'm surprised you haven't been arrested yet."

Clary wrinkled her nose lightly, regarding him like she didn't know what to do with him, and retorted, "I mean, they tried, but I'm a little too tough for them."

Jace grinned widely at her and agreed, "I don't doubt it. The most exciting thing this town has seen is Maryse's pancakes. They almost arrested her for witchcraft, but then she reminded them that we weren't in the 17th century. That convinced them to throw out the pitchforks and torches."

Clary bit her bottom lip, presumably to keep from laughing, and Jace was unbelievably pleased, for the second time that day, that he'd elicited such a reaction from her. In an attempt to coax a laugh from her lips, he continued, "It was pretty scary. There were at least like 10 people ready to burn her to death which is impressive because most events only draw out a crowd of 1 or 2. A lot of homebodies these witch hunters are."

"Pretty hypocritical of you to say, Mr. Cabin in the Woods," she teased, her eyes alight with amusement.

"Well that's just because I am a witch. I don't want them to find me out, though, so I steer clear," he answered, sobering his expression so that he could nod at her seriously.

He earned from her that laugh to which he was quickly becoming addicted and tried to ignore the overhanging anxiety that he'd become too addicted to her. The words of his promise came back to him as he watched her relax and trust him just a bit more and was assaulted by the one question that had been niggling at the back of his mind all day.

How was he supposed to just let her go?


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I tried to update a little more quickly this time… not that it was hard. I still feel bad about last time. I'll be better, I swear. Thoughts on the show? I love it. Let's discuss, friends. And please let me know what you think of this story. I really want to improve. Let me know. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: One day I'm going to own one of those franchises that people write fanfics about and then I'm going to write a fanfic about it and when I write the disclaimer I'll be like "I own this. Mwahaha!" Today is not that day.**

Chapter 12

Jace graced Clary with his presence for the hours between the lunch rush and the dinner shift.

He'd sat at the counter without ordering anything and chatted with her as she did menial tasks like restock the napkin holders or wipe down the countertops. Maryse popped out of the kitchen at one point to inform her that she'd already gotten the job, so she could, in fact, relax a little until more customers arrived, but Clary felt a lot safer when she was doing things.

She was finding that nothing was more dangerous than looking into Jace Lightwood's eyes.

He chatted with her with a feigned nonchalance, but Clary knew Jace well enough to know that he was taking each response very seriously. Possibly, he was even committing them to memory, but Clary couldn't be sure and didn't want to assume that she was that important to him.

She couldn't help but think that in a way she was important to him though. Maybe only superficially, as he was clearly fascinated by her. She couldn't blame him. It's not everyday someone as complicated as she was slept in one's bed.

So she comforted herself with conclusions that she was nothing more than a curiosity for him and all of the care he showed her was an indication more of his nature than his feelings for her. She could've been anyone and elicited the same reaction from him under similar circumstance, and, under different circumstances, he hardly would've noticed her at all.

But that explanation, comfortable as it was, didn't sit right with her and she found herself actively seeking out indications that she was wrong in this even though she knew that this was all their relationship could be. Even if she could develop their relationship beyond this point, she shouldn't want to. She was a mess and would be no good for him, of this she was sure.

These arguments were basically useless in controlling her reaction to him though, so distraction was ultimately the better choice.

Seven days, she repeated to herself when she found herself getting lost in his stare. She forced herself to blink and return her focus to her hands, ignoring the way her heart ached just a little bit at the loss.

"Favorite color?" Jace quizzed, studying her with his heavy gaze. He'd been asking her meaningless questions about herself since she'd arrived, obviously determined to learn as much about her as he could without putting her on guard.

Clary guessed he probably hoped that she'd slip up again and include something about her life in their conversation like she had earlier when she revealed how long she'd been on the move. She'd noticed her mistake almost instantly, but had pretended like she hadn't to avoid questions. Taking it as a warning to be more careful, she'd tried to keep an eye on what she said to him, but it was a difficult undertaking that left her wondering if the slip up had really been accidental.

A sound from Jace made it clear that he was waiting for her answer and Clary hesitated, alarmed by what her unchecked response would have been.

Gold.

She glanced up at him, startled by the thought. When had that happened? She'd always figured that her favorite color was a lovely blue or something like that, but she'd never considered it seriously, making just how immediately she'd known her answer even more concerning.

He tilted his head slightly to the side, trying to read and understand the distress he found on her face to no avail. Clary was inordinately glad that he couldn't read her mind.

She offered a noncommittal shrug and answered, "I'm not sure."

His lips quirked up into an amused smile as he challenged, "How does someone not know their favorite color?"

She furrowed her brow in what she hoped was an irritated look and quipped, "Well what's your favorite color, Blondie? Gold like the color of your dreamy eyes?" She added the last part in a breathy tone to make it clear that she was mocking him, despite how on point her jest was in terms of her own choice.

He allowed his eyes to trap hers with their intensity before answering simply, "Green."

Clary could do nothing to stop herself from releasing a ragged breath at his answer, as not even her most pessimistic thoughts could convince her that he was referring to anything other than her eyes.

His gaze was steady on hers and Clary felt like he'd never been more clear with her, but she had no idea how to even begin to understand him.

He's stated his answer easily and even the way he watched her now was with a confidence and a simplicity that she envied. He made it all seem so easy and she'd never had the luxury of ease. It just served to make this harder for her. She wanted to be able to smile at him and say the word "Gold" just as easily as he'd said "Green". She wanted to leave him to wonder what she meant by that.

She was beginning to doubt that anything like that would be possible for her.

"Are you alright, Clary?"

And there he was again, saying her name like it was important that he got it right. Making it that much harder for her.

Making her wonder if hard was such a bad thing after all.

"Yeah," she answered, pretty sure she actually meant it.

He scanned her face once more before shooting her a soft smile that served to soothe some of her anxieties. She had no idea why she felt so strongly about this man whom she'd just met or why he had so much power over her without ever trying.

She wasn't sure why this didn't bother her as much as it should have.

"Favorite animal?" he resumed his quiz, effectively freeing her from his intensity. She felt like she could breathe again and took the reprieve to return her attention back to her hands which had been wiping down the counter for the third time since he'd arrived. She was so desperate for a distraction that she would have hopped into the kitchen and started on the dishes if she thought Maryse would have let her.

Clary rolled her eyes good-naturedly and retorted, "Cats obviously."

"I was hoping that Simon was just an exception. I'm more of a dog person myself."

Clary gasped dramatically and placed the hand that wasn't clutching a rag to her heart.

"Don't let Simon hear you say that. He already doesn't like you. You don't need to give him another reason to hurt that pretty face of yours," she warned, only half-kidding.

Jace chuckled lightly in response and argued, "I wouldn't say he doesn't like me. We just don't trust each other, but we'll get there. And not even he would try to damage my face, which is a gift to all species, cats included."

Clary shook her head at his ego and glanced up to appreciate the subject of his, and her, admiration. He really was gorgeous. He was easily one of the most beautiful people she'd ever seen and the softness that his golden person seemed to exude contrasted with his cocky jests and hinted at a softness only hinted at when he did things like utter her name or touch her even lightly. She'd have loved a chance to attempt to draw him and display his contradiction.

"Checking me out again, firecracker? You really should take a picture for when I'm not there."

Still slightly dazed by the twitch of her fingers which she used to so easily ignore, she answered honestly, "I'd like to draw one of you, but I'm not one for cameras. Photographs only show things as they seem. I want to represent things as they are."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, surprised by the small revelation on her part. He let her words sit for a moment before asking, "So you're an artist?"

Clary focused once again on her hands and hesitantly answered, "In another lifetime maybe."

Jace didn't reply, perhaps sensing how intimate her confession was. Clary had tried her hardest to forget fanciful things like her art for years, but something about her time with Jace was bringing those thoughts to the forefront of her mind and making her wonder how she'd managed to repress them for so long.

The bell signifying that the door to the café had opened tinkled, drawing both Jace's and Clary's gazes to the source of the sound – two middle-aged men who looked like they'd just gotten off of a construction site.

"They're probably just getting off from working on the road. Tonight will be busy for you guys," Jace stated distractedly, like he wasn't really paying attention.

Maryse's voice called out from behind Clary, "Take a seat anywhere, boys. Someone will be around to see you shortly."

Clary turned to cast a glance at Maryse, who was looking pointedly at Jace. The message was clear.

"I should be going now. I'll be back after the dinner rush. You should be okay though. If there's a problem, have Maryse call me. I'll just be doing some shopping in town so if you need me," he was suddenly very close to her with a hand ghosting over her cheek so that she looked up at him as he continued, "I can be here within minutes."

Clary nodded, experiencing some of the familiar anxiety that accompanied his leaving, and felt like she should say something. The time they'd spent together had meant too much for her not to say anything at all, but she had no idea what one should say in situations like this. Partly because she had no idea what this situation was exactly. All she knew was that she'd miss him and she didn't know how to tell him so.

So, she gave him what she could and reached a hand out to squeeze his forearm lightly, smiling gently at him.

His eyes drifted to her hand on his arm before finding their way to her lips to study her smile. The corners of his lips turned up to mimic her soft expression and he concluded, "I'll be back soon. Good luck."

And just like that he was gone.

And just like that she could think again. Breathe again.

What had she gotten herself into?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Morgenstern drummed his fingers on the table without any real rhythm. With his guards preoccupied with searching for Clary and his guests busy with those guards that did remain, he was confident that no one would be popping into his office requiring the composed show he put on to scare them.

Only when he was alone could he allow Luke's words and Clary's absence to affect him.

There was a truth to the mutt's determination that Clary would never love him that the Morgenstern refused to accept. The rational part of him knew that even if he did break Clary, like he intended to if she continued to deny him, that wouldn't make her love him. The most he could hope for was submission, which in achieving would change and, in a way, kill the Clary he loved.

But he couldn't let her go. She was his and the only thing besides killing that would give him joy. How could he give up on her?

The answer was simple. He couldn't. So he wouldn't.

He missed Clary and whenever he thought of her out there alone in a world she didn't understand he feared for her. In some ways she was like his lovely porcelain doll. The idea that someone could have hurt her while she was away from him and he couldn't protect her made him feel powerless in a way that only served to increase his anger. How dare she scare him like this.

He didn't even entertain the idea that she could be dead. Despite his porcelain doll analogy, Clary was a fighter and resourceful. She was undoubtedly still alive.

The thought that she was happy out there without him also crossed his mind. He knew he was a monster, which was part of the reason he knew she'd never love him. He knew that he'd made her suffer quite a bit, but it was a necessary evil. He certainly wasn't going to sacrifice his goals for her comfort.

With this in mind, it made complete sense to him that she could find some happiness without him. And it would be fair, he admitted, for her to seek this happiness, as his behavior up until this point had given her no indication that he was capable of making her happy as well. He was eager for her to return to him so that he could prove himself to her.

It occurred to him that perhaps she was seeing someone wherever she was. The very idea made his blood boil, although it made sense to him. Clary was beautiful and a true delight to be around, but if she was seeing someone else, it would mean that she'd moved on and had replaced him completely. With only a month between them, it wouldn't be fair for her to have moved on completely while he was driving himself crazy waiting for her.

One thing was for sure, he'd hurt her the way she'd hurt him if she was anything other than weak, starving, and sorry.

And he'd make anyone who thought they could have what was his suffer.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I got some super rad reviews on the last chapter and I'm feeling pretty inspired to continue writing this story which is why my reviews are happening more quickly than usual. I'm really sorry if this is still moving too slowly for you guys. I really do think that when their relationships and characters are in a less tenuous position, then I can treat them less delicately and move on, but until then I really want to treat each word and gesture carefully and thoughtfully. I'm really trying to develop a meaningful connection between these people and establish diverse, interesting characters. Please let me know how I'm doing in this regard! I need feedback to improve, so if you have problems I need the feedback. If I'm doing something you like, let me know and I can hone that. Let me know what you think and enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

Chapter 13

By the time Jace returned, Clary was veritably exhausted.

She'd spent a lot of time in the last month moving and running on maybe less than four hours of sleep where tiredness crept at the corner of her consciousness, but she'd never been in a stable enough state to allow herself to feel those effects. And even if she had allowed herself, it would've been a different tiredness. It would've been emptying, painful, and without hope of reprieve.

This, though, was the result of good, hard work and she could think of a couch and a boy to which she would return when she was done working. She hadn't experienced anything more satisfying than this exhaustion in weeks.

It was 8 o'clock and Clary had just waited dozens of tables with a fury and efficiency that left Maryse visibly impressed when the bell tinkled signifying Jace's arrival. Most of the people who'd arrived for dinner had left and all that remained were those leisurely finishing their drinks or those taking advantage of the Café's liquor license. Apparently, this was also the town's bar until ten when the various nightclubs would open.

Clary was surprised to find that Jace didn't enter alone. At his heels was a man who looked to be about his age chattering in his ear, much to Jace's irritation.

Clary realized she was staring but she would be lying if she claimed that she wasn't intrigued by this man. To her knowledge, Jace had no friends in this town, although now that she thought about it, that didn't make sense. Of course Jace had friends. Why wouldn't he have had friends?

The man was nearly Jace's height and incredibly pale with inky black hair that hung to his cheek and was slicked back. He wore suit pants and a jacket, with a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His brown eyes assessed the area arrogantly, as if confidence was for amateurs. Clary tried not to judge him, but she'd had an abundance of practice forming negative opinions about people and, next to the radiant Jace, he looked slimy, for lack of a better word. Though he was handsome, his face just struck her as off or askew.

Jace's eyes were glazed over in indifference as he entered the café and they scanned the dining area quickly until his eyes landed on her, once again behind the counter keeping an eye on the restaurant as Maryse worked on making sure the kitchen was in order. Clary had learned just how desperately she was needed as Maryse, though she had a chef working there, did most of the cooking herself. So without a waitress, she was left to do most of the waiting herself, even if the busboy helped, which he had very little time to do if they were going to turn over tables quickly.

When Jace's eyes met hers, immediately his disinterest shifted into a pleased expression and his lips turned upwards into a light smile. His friend, noticing the change in him, stopped talking and followed his line of vision until his eyes landed on her. His mouth twisted into a smirk and, as they neared her, he stepped ahead of Jace and extended his hand to her.

"You must be the girl who's causing a stir in this town," he greeted, his voice powerful and giving her the impression that he was mocking her in some way.

Her eyes flitted to Jace who was absolutely fuming next to Sebastian before reaching out and accepting his hand. He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her forward slightly so that her front was hovering over the counter and their faces were only inches apart.

"The name's Sebastian. It's a pleasure to meet you," he spoke, his tone low so that she had to strain to hear him.

Clary nodded and politely introduced herself, "I'm Clary. It's nice to meet one of Jace's friends."

"Friend is a strong word," Jace grumbled, his eyes shooting daggers at Sebastian.

Clary lightly tugged her hand back, indicating that she wanted the contact to end, but only caused him to shift his grip from her hand to her wrist and turn her hand over in his palm so that it was faced upwards. With his free hand, he gently traced a line down the middle and muttered, "Smooth hands you've got here Clary. Small too. She's cute, Jace. I can see why you like her."

Jace's jaw clenched and he placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder before answering, his voice low and dangerous, "Yeah. I like her a lot more when your hands aren't on her."

Clary detected some movement in the hand Jace placed on Sebastian's shoulder and Sebastian instantly retracted his hand and squirmed away from Jace's grasp.

"Geez someone's protective," he muttered, rubbing his shoulder dramatically. Casting his glance sideways at Clary, he added, "He's really worried you'll realize how much better I am than he is."

"I don't think that'll be a problem," Clary quipped wryly, her eyes once again finding their way to Jace's. Some of his tension eased at the comment and he even offered her a smile.

"Ouch. That really hurts to hear, doll. But it only makes me want to try harder to convince you of the error of your ways," Sebastian teased, his hand clutched to his heart in a way similar to what Jace had done earlier. It was less charming on Sebastian, though.

"News travels in this town and Sebastian heard about you. He followed me here to meet you and, for that, I am abundantly sorry," Jace explained, his eyes amused despite all of the obvious irritation Sebastian brought him. Despite his complaining, clearly Jace and Sebastian were friends, which was good enough for Clary. If Jace was friends with him, there must've been a reason.

"Don't worry about it. You did promise to keep things interesting," Clary replied, eager to assuage him of any concerns. With all he'd done for her, she could certainly put up with a friend who was a bit of an asshole.

Jace's smile widened a little bit and, without moving his eyes from hers, he stated, "But he's met and harassed you now, so he's leaving to do whatever it is shameless flirts do in their free time."

Sebastian snorted and quipped, "As if you don't know."

Jace flinched, moving his eyes from Clary to the counter between them, and immediately countered, "That was a long time ago."

Clary detected a hint of shame in his eyes along with something she couldn't identify, but seemed sad in nature. Sebastian, clearly not entirely daft, seemed to pick up on this shift as well and placed a hand on Jace's shoulder gently. After casting a glance at Clary, he agreed, "He's right. I shouldn't have mentioned it in the first place. He's a good man." His hand tightened around Jace's shoulder in what seemed like a comforting squeeze and concluded sincerely, "I'm sorry for stirring the pot here. I really did just want to meet you. Hopefully next time I see you, I'm less rude."

He left the conversation with an easy smile and a look at Jace that was anything but easy.

It was quite clear to Clary that Jace was not pleased with his playboy past, but she was hardly surprised by this revelation. She'd initially pegged him as a bit of a slut if only because of how flirtatious he was and, though Maryse had given her the impression that he hadn't shown any interest in women in quite some time, Clary had no difficulty reconciling this new information, that he'd been a playboy in the past but had stopped that, with her view of him. She certainly didn't think less of him because of it.

She slid her hand across the counter so that it rested on one of his and gave it a squeeze. She was surprised to feel his hand turn over and grip hers back so that they were almost holding hands. There was something incredibly intimate about their connection in that moment that made every bone in Clary's body scream at her to pull away. One look into his eyes, though, and she knew she couldn't though, even if she really wanted to.

It was all too clear to her that she was falling. She could recognize the signs even though she was unfamiliar with them. She had very definitively lost control of the situation and there was nothing she could do to stop this, whatever it was. All she knew was that she'd have to wait until she stopped falling.

Unfortunately for her, she was quite aware of what would happen when she did stop.

She'd hit the ground.

And it'd hurt. A lot.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What's it like?"

The man chained to the wall groaned and lifted his head in response, the action as much of a testament to his strength as an indication of how cruelly the man speaking to him now had treated him.

"What's what like?" he rasped, his throat probably suffering to appease his pride.

The Morgenstern studied his guest, an unseemly excuse for a man. His arms were chained above his head on either side of his head so that his arms were outstretched outwards, forming a T. His feet touched the ground enough so that the mutt could push himself up when the pain in his arms was unbearable, but Luke mostly dangled there in between beatings.

At this point, the Morgenstern was positive that the mutt had been smart enough to refrain from gathering any information from Clary about where she'd be going. He hadn't even gone to see her off, though the man was sure it killed him not to do so. His little Clary had been smart in that aspect, as she hadn't trusted Luke enough to give him anything that would give her away in a moment of desperation.

Not even the circumstances could dull his pride in her.

Despite this knowledge, the Morgenstern ordered his guards to provide Luke with a beating sporadically and kept him only nourished enough to keep him alive. He'd vaguely hoped that this might break his spirit, but he was not so naïve to think it'd work. As long as Clary was free, this mutt had something for which to fight. He really was just like a dog. So loyal.

It made him want to be sick.

But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't impressed.

Here was a man who had nothing to live for except for Clary and would do anything to protect her. He could certainly identify with that. In some ways, he viewed this man as a mirror image to himself: rejected and hated.

He looked at this mutt and saw himself. Outcast. Loser. Unwanted.

They only differed in how they reacted to these circumstances. Luke had obviously chosen more delicate means to get what he wanted and, in doing so, failed to get anything but pain. He pined for Jocelyn only to have her ripped away from him and then dedicated himself to her daughter, enduring endless torments to protect her.

Where he chose to accept, wait, and love, the Morgenstern chose instead to demolish his obstacles. He would crush those who hurt him and destroy all that stood between him and Clary.

And whereas Luke stood like a guard dog, brave and true, the Morgenstern was a snake, deceptive and cunning.

Luke had known love and loss. The Morgenstern, ultimately, had only experienced loss.

Luke, in his strength and passion, as well as his circumstances, represented for the Morgenstern what he could've become. So, although he hated him for helping Clary to escape, he respected him and, due in no small part to his blatant refusal to submit, trusted him.

That's why he came back here. Not only to check on his very important prisoner, but to observe him because Clary loved in Luke what was lacking in him. To be around someone he trusted because that list was remarkably short. To speak to someone who was as close to his equal as he'd ever get.

"To feel."

Luke seemed taken aback by the question, understandably so considering his circumstances. The Morgenstern knew it was broad, but had no doubt the mutt understood what he was asking. He felt hate and anger and jealousy and disappointment, but never love or joy or anything like that.

Except when he was with her.

When he was with her, he felt hope. Hope that there was one thing good that not even he could poison. He felt love, for surely he loved her, if no one else. He felt as close to happy as he could, although he knew that his happiness was incomplete.

But he'd never been able to casually experience pleasure or amusement. Every dose of positive feeling he'd come across had been followed by an even larger dose of suffering. He could hardly comprehend the simplicity of feeling possessed by other people.

A flash of something – pity perhaps - momentarily replaced the contempt in the mutt's eyes before he answered, "It's not something I could explain that you'd understand. The only way to know is through experience, which you'll never get if you keep doing what you're doing."

The Morgenstern recognized the last part of his statement as a half-hearted attempt to point out an alternative path for him and discarded it immediately. He considered the rest of his answer and was unsurprised at the mutt's glibness. He'd expected as much.

"How do you know you love Clary?"

This time it was the Morgenstern's turn to experience surprise, as he hadn't expected the mutt to be so bold as to ask him a personal question. He could think of a few answers to Luke's question, but hardly deemed him worthy of those answers. He simply didn't feel like having a dog tell him that he didn't love her when he knew he did.

The mutt, apparently expecting his reticence, answered his own question, "I know I love her because I'd die for her. I'd give up everything for her. She's my daughter and I love her unconditionally. I don't need to own her. I don't need her to obey me. I don't need to break her."

Despite his best efforts, the Morgenstern found himself listening to Luke's declaration ad examining his own feelings for her. He certainly wouldn't sacrifice anything for her happiness. Why should he have to? He would have both. He certainly would love her forever and that was unconditional in a way.

As for the last statements, the Morgenstern didn't know how to reply. He knew he needed her to obey him and he did own her. It was not something he needed, as it already was.

He didn't want to have to break her, but a part of him knew he'd need to in order to keep her with him. Did that mean he didn't love her?

He knew he'd break her eventually anyway, even if he didn't have to. He was poison, plain and simple. Everything he touched suffered for it and, despite his hopes that not even he could tarnish her goodness, he knew he would. He couldn't help it. If he didn't do so accidentally, he'd certainly seek out ways to hurt her. It was all he knew. He wanted to hurt people, even her.

He shook his head with irritation. Of course he loved her. The mutt didn't know about what he was speaking.

Deciding he'd had enough of his prisoner for the day, the Morgenstern turned and left the cell wordlessly and with an uneasy feeling that hadn't been there when he'd arrived.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I know there's been a bit of a wait on this one and for that I'm sorry. I'm in a show and it comes out soon so rehearsals have been kicking my ass. Sorry guys. I'll try to be better. Hope you enjoy!**

Chapter 14

Clary woke up again in Jace's bed despite making sure to fall asleep on the couch.

The day before she'd let the incident slip as a result of her impending departure, but now that she was staying for the entire week, she certainly couldn't allow him to continue this behavior. Allowing herself little more than just another moment in the comfort and warmth of his bed, Clary threw back the covers and lowered her bare feet to the floor, wincing only slightly at the cold. She moved to the door before she thought better of her hastiness.

In the entirety of their time together, Clary had been unprepared for the day and, as a result, looked like some sort of animal whilst Jace, through the gift of genetics, had always looked like an angel of some kind. She eyed the door adjoining Jace's bedroom to his bathroom and moved towards it, careful to listen for any sounds. She pressed her ear to the door and knocked when she didn't hear anything, painfully aware of the awkwardness of the day before when she'd caught him in nothing but a towel and was forced to acknowledge very visibly how damn sexy he was.

After waiting a moment, she decided to risk it and slowly opened the door, pleased to find it indeed empty. She quickly locked the door and eyed the dual bathtub and shower before deciding on a quick shower rather than a bath. After grabbing a towel, she pulled back the curtain only to be surprised by the sight of feminine body wash and shampoo aimed at girl's curly hair. He must've picked them up the other day when he'd left her to go shopping.

The thoughtfulness of this man baffled her.

After quickly showering using the products he'd purchased for her despite her wandering eye towards his body wash which she'd come to pinpoint as the source of how he smelled, she redressed in his baggy clothes and turned toward the mirror in his bathroom.

She'd avoided looking at herself in the mirror since she'd left.

She knew that she looked like a homeless mess and seeing just how far gone she was would only add an insecurity to her mounting problems. Since she'd been with Jace though, she found herself checking her reflection in the mirror to assure that she looked okay, a sensation with which she was unfamiliar. She'd never been too concerned with her looks, but for some reason she wanted to look her best for Jace. To impress him.

For some reason, she mentally scoffed at herself, as if this shift wasn't obvious.

She was very clearly attracted to Jace. It was hard not to be considering how physically beautiful he was.

But it was more than that. He was kind to her when she'd received very little kindness. He was thoughtful and charming and funny. When she was around him, she forgot all of the things that made her broken and could pretend that she was just a normal girl living with her male friend.

Although from what little she knew of friendships, she wasn't sure they'd qualify as such. Sometimes it felt like they were more and sometimes she was clear that they were less, but if asked to describe their relationship in a word, that was the one on which she always landed.

Clary surveyed her reflection appraisingly, taking in her pale face. She was told often by her father that she resembled her mother, though she only loosely saw to what he was referring. Her mother was beautiful and Clary saw herself as the watered down version of that beauty. Her heart shaped face had softer features than her mother's and her green eyes were less vibrant than her mother. Her usually curly and wild red hair hung limply around her face, making her look thinner than she usually did. None of these features reminded her of her mother usually.

Today, however, she saw it.

Her eyes, though they reflected her haunted past, exhibited some hope, which her mother had never quite lost and she had never quite had. Looking into her own defiant eyes, determined to live despite from what she ran, reminded her strongly of the look she'd often seen in her mother's eyes as a child.

This pleased her, even if nothing else about her appearance did.

Clary emerged from the bathroom, at least semi-content with her appearance, to find Jace asleep on the couch with Simon planted on his stomach fast asleep much to Clary's surprise.

She instantly pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle as she took in the scene. Jace was a large man, especially in comparison to his relatively small couch, which was more of a loveseat than a couch now that she had a chance to look at it. As a result, his head rested on the armrest at an angle that couldn't have been comfortable and his legs dangled over the end of the couch. The result by itself was comedic, but with the addition of Simon, a brown, curly-haired thin cat, to his stomach, the scene was practically hysterical.

Clary's hand twitched and for once the urge to draw didn't feel like a burden of her old life. Instead, she felt incredibly light, almost like the experience of wanting to draw unaccompanied by suffering was a relief. She'd never allowed herself to recognize how much she missed her art, partly because she'd been convinced that she'd never be able to bring anything beautiful into this world after everything she'd seen.

But looking at Jace sprawled on that couch, she wasn't so sure that was the case anymore.

"How long are you going to undress me with your eyes, firecracker? I've got things to do."

Jace's voice awoke her from her daze, but didn't dispel the lightness – for lack of a better word – she'd found. If anything, it made the sensation stronger, to the extent where she was concerned she might float away.

He'd yet to open his eyes or stir even a little, but his face had shifted from sporting a calm smile to something more akin to amusement.

"I think I'm just about done," Clary teased, surprised at the ease with which she did so. Only yesterday she would've blushed and stammered something incoherent.

His smile widened and slowly, his eyes slid open. They focused on the ceiling above him for a moment, before he turned his focus towards her with the same intensity they always held despite the bleariness evident from sleep.

"What are you thinking about?"

A simple question requiring a not so simple answer. What was she thinking about? She couldn't even begin to get her thoughts straight on the man before her, so, in an effort to be honest, she offered what she did know.

"I was thinking about drawing you."

His eyebrows rose curiously and he studied her for a moment. Clary could tell that this was one of those moments when he was discerning which questions to ask and which to avoid. She wasn't sure she liked how carefully he treated her, but she couldn't say that she blamed him.

"You draw?" he started with, asking the question slowly so as not to startle her. He seemed to sense that this was a topic of great importance to her.

She offered him a soft smile in response and explained, "My mother taught me how to draw when I was 5 and I've taken classes for most of my life. I haven't even looked at my sketch book in months."

He hesitated momentarily, unsure of how to next move in response to her openness, but asked, "Why did you stop?"

The memories flew at her all at once. She could feign indifference or uncertainty, but she knew exactly why she stopped. She knew what she made. She knew the ugliness she released.

Her first instinct was to hide that from him. She didn't want him to look at her and know just how much hatred and darkness that was inside of her.

But that wasn't fair. He deserved to have at least an inkling of who she was.

"Everything I draw shows more of me than whatever I'm drawing. And after a while," she paused, her gaze slipping from his as memories she'd spent a long time running from came back to her in a rush, "I stopped like what I was seeing."

She heard Jace stir followed by an indignant meow from Simon as he was forced from his perch on Jace's stomach. When she looked back at him, he was sitting upright and studying her, his face twisted in compassion.

They left the moment as it was. The heaviness of her confession, though Jace didn't understand the extent of it, seemed to weigh on them both.

"Sometimes," Jace began, his eyes on hers but unfocused, making it clear that his mind was elsewhere, "all of the awfulness around us has a way of infecting even the purest things." His eyes suddenly regained attentiveness and she almost shuddered under the heaviness of his gaze.

"I think you probably needed your art to get all of that ugly out of your system."

Clary's heart picked up speed a little bit at the comment and she knew that she needed to shut this conversation down. She was showing too much. Sharing too much. She'd only known him for a little over a day.

But she couldn't stop herself.

"I'm sometimes not sure I did such a good job."

Jace let the comment breathe for a moment as Clary let what she'd said sink in. It was a fear she'd never let herself admit she had, but she was always aware of it. No one who experienced as much evil as she did remained pure. No one could escape something that poisonous.

Jace's eyes were burning into her. Searing right through her skin into whatever laid beneath it. She felt quite certain in that moment that he saw and knew everything about her.

With a quiet passion, Jace, with a tone of finality, stated, "There's nothing ugly about you."

He was standing and in front of her faster than Clary could believe. When he was only inches away from her, he reached a hand out and softly, tenderly placed it over her heart so that she was clear about his exact meaning.

Their faces were inches apart and his breath was hot on her face. Her face tilted downward so that she could look at his hand. His palm was flat against her chest and she felt the heat of it seep through her shirt. Her eyes travelled from his hand to his eyes which were still lighting her on fire.

He was going to kiss her. This she noted with absolute certainty. It was inevitable. There was nowhere else that this encounter would go. He would kiss her and she wanted him to. She wanted the intimacy. She wanted something she could trust. She wanted to feel human.

More than anything, she wanted Jace.

Clary felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wanted to draw his face like it was then. She wanted to recreate the way he was looking at her so that she could have it always. She wanted to remember this moment for the perfection that it was.

And she wanted it to last forever.

So she did the only sensible thing for a girl in her situation.

She stepped away.

Jace's hand hovered in the air where it'd been before she'd moved back as if trying to hold onto the moment she'd just destroyed. He blinked as if trying to clear his head, and Clary understood why he'd need to. Her head was a little foggy as well from the spell she'd just been under.

His eyes held hers for a moment more and she wondered what he saw there. She wasn't brave enough to even hazard a guess as to what that was.

Slowly he lowered his hand and disappointment clouded his features. Clary felt that disappointment like a dagger through her heart as she acknowledged that she'd brought that look to his face.

"How about I make us some breakfast?" Clary asked, her voice weakly attempting to establish a casual atmosphere.

He nodded lightly and offered her a tight smile.

"Do you need any instructions on how to work the kitchen? I have a gas stove. I hope that won't be a problem."

Clary shook her head and joked, "I find that if you go hungry for long enough, you can pretty easily master any device that helps put food into your mouth."

He dropped his smile at the sentiment and shook his head lightly, clearly displeased with her choice of humor.

Clary mentally cursed herself for ruining the moment and, before he disappeared into the seclusion of his bathroom, she called out, "Jace, please."

He paused and she saw his shoulders slump forward. He half turned towards her and, with an air of exhaustion, stated, "Don't worry about it, Clary. I understand. I'll be patient."

He disappeared into the bathroom before Clary could ask what he meant. She felt the tension leave her body at his absence, for once acknowledging that she was quite sure of what he meant.

She could barely even muster up alarm at the realization that she was relieved.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I'm really sorry this took so long for me to update. I'm in a show that premiered last weekend and have been basically sleepless and dying. I'm really sorry. Once the show is over, I'm hoping to have more free time. Also this chapter was kinda hard to write, which didn't help. I hope you like it. I didn't have time to edit it because I wanted to update before you guys forgot about me. I hope you didn't. Let me know what you think!**

Chapter 15

"When are we going to stop pretending?"

It was only a matter of time. Jace would have been naïve to expect to suddenly live with and spend all of his time with a stranger – a female nonetheless – and receive no questions from Maryse about it. The situation was odd and unusual and, considering his typical avoidance of people, out of character.

Up until this point, Maryse had been giving him a pass, but he realized it was unfair of him to expect for her to just let this happen without any information.

Jace sighed, at least relieved that she'd waited until Clary was preoccupied to begin looking for answers, though he was sure that she'd have no qualms to turning her questions on Clary if he didn't sufficiently satiate her curiosity and concern. He allowed his gaze to rest on Clary as she waited tables for the breakfast rush for just a moment more before turning to his de facto mother. She was scrutinizing him in that cool, impassive way she had that would drive Isabelle absolutely mad when they were younger and he could tell she was trying not to scare him off. If there was anything comical about the situation, it was that he was now being treated in the same way he treated Clary and he wondered if they weren't blood related after all.

"You're right. I owe you some explanations. So, please, ask away," he conceded with an air of defeat.

Maryse tilted her head back before turning towards the kitchen, offering him a silent order to follow. Jace mentally cursed at the indication that, since she'd need to return to the kitchen and resume cooking, this would be a long conversation.

He cast one last glance at Clary who was watching the scene with interest. When he caught her gaze, her eyes widened slightly and she lowered her gaze, her cheeks coloring slightly at the embarrassment of being caught. The action brought a smile to his lips, although he wasn't sure why. She'd done nothing particularly special and yet he felt his apprehensions melt away. He felt a surge of confidence as he slipped behind the counter and followed Maryse that he couldn't deny somehow came from the sight of the strange lovely vagabond he'd found. Luckily, he'd begun to just enjoy her effect on him rather than dissect it. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to explain it, so why not relish in her warmth while he could?

He arrived just as Maryse was pouring pancake batter onto the griddle. She had another cook on hand, but no one else dared to attempt Maryse's famous pancakes. Jordan, the young man serving as Maryse's only other assistance in the kitchen, shot Jace a surprised look when he found him in the kitchen, which was to be expected considering how little Jace came to the café. He typically met with Maryse when the diner had closed.

They had a habit of sitting at the counter with the lights off and the doors locked to listen to music. They rarely talked much during these encounters except to discuss Jace's siblings and his father which they did infrequently. For the most part, they sat and listened to music and drank coffee until it was late and Jace left. He had no idea how late she sat there after that. He suspected that she didn't go home until late into the night. They never talked about it. It wasn't something they'd discussed. He'd wandered over one night after a restless sleep to find her there and had continued to do so sporadically from there on.

She made a point of avoiding eye contact, something he noticed she did whenever she had anything important to discuss.

"How did you meet her? And don't feed me some bullshit about a coffee shop," she asked crassly, cutting straight to the point.

Jace cast an uneasy glance towards Jordan before returning his eyes back on her. She exhaled heavily, sensing his concern, and called, "Jordan, work the counter. I'll cover cooking for a few moments. Take your orders from Clary there and shout them back. I'll bring them to you."

Jordan eyed the two uneasily before lowering the temperature of the oven over which he was cooking something and, after a nod towards it to alert them to the fact that they were now responsible for it, left, propping the door open behind him.

After waiting a moment to ensure that Jordan wasn't listening, Jace answered, "I found her freezing to death at the bus stop. She bought a ticket without knowing that the midnight bus barely shows up."

"So you took her home with you? Why didn't you bring her here? Or to Amatis?" she asked, referring to the local innkeeper.

"She didn't have any money and wanted to keep a low profile," he answered, aware of how foolish he sounded.

"Why does she want to keep a low profile?"

There it was. The very question Jace had been wishing to ask her since he'd known her.

Maryse, for the first time since they'd started talking, looked up from her pancakes to study his expression. After a moment of silence, she saved him from answering by stating, "You don't know why."

"She doesn't want to talk about it," he replied nonchalantly, earning himself a harsh sigh in response.

"So, let me see if I have this straight," she began, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose in agitation, "You found a strange girl freezing to death who is for some reason trying to keep a low profile. Shady as this may seem, you decided to take her into your house and get her a job at my establishment, even though she could be an outlaw or something like that?"

Jace rolled his eyes and immediately retorted, "She's 100 pounds soaking wet. How many crimes do you think she's committing?"

"That's not the point, Jace. You know nothing about her and you're trusting her in your house with your family. Do you have any idea how foolish that is? She's staying in your house for a week, Jace. A week!"

Her voice rose steadily from its composed pitch gradually, which it rarely did, indicating that she was genuinely upset about this, although for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.

"I think I can handle myself against her, Maryse. She doesn't have a weapon and I could easily overpower her. I don't even have anything that I couldn't live without should she rob me. In fact, she has more reason to be scared of me than I do of her," he retorted, eyeing her curiously as he tried to read her.

"Maybe she's got a jealous violent husband that she's on the run from? Ever think of that Jace?"

"Well then I want to protect her even more, Maryse," he argued, hoping his use of her name made his frustration evident.

"And who's going to protect you when the husband comes to your doorstep."

"I'm more than capable of defending myself," he paused to study her reaction at his argument. He knew he was right, and he knew that she knew he was right. But for whatever reason, the tension didn't leave her features.

The pancakes began to burn but neither of them moved. After it was clear he'd never figure this out from her expression alone though he usually read her with relative ease, he asked, "So why are you really upset, Maryse?"

Maryse returned her attention to the pancakes she was making, which had mostly finished. He watched as she removed them from the griddle and placed them on a plate without saying a word. He knew Maryse well enough to know that she'd tell him in her own time and rushing her would be pointless. So he waited, analyzing her as she gathered her thoughts, acutely aware of how often he'd make Clary wait while he did the same.

His mother was treating him very carefully.

She released another sigh, a sound she'd been making with more and more frequency lately, and turned off the griddle. Turning towards him with her hands on her waist, she offered him a look that was little more than tired. She looked exhausted.

Suddenly, the wrinkles around her eyes seemed more prominent and the dark circles underneath them took on a new definition. When had her hair become more gray than black? When had her shoulders begun to slump forward as if under an immensely heavy weight?

How had he failed to notice just how badly she was suffering?

He wasn't sure exactly what he was trying to convey to her when he reach out and wrapped his arms around her. Perhaps he'd wanted to take some of her pain from her, but that'd never been a concern.

He'd known she'd taken things hard in the last few years, but it had never seemed as bad as it did now. Before he'd always looked at her tiredness and had seen it reflected in himself, but now all he could feel was shame and sympathy at the sight.

Had she gotten worse in the last few days?

Or had he gotten better?

Maryse's apprehensions seemed a little clearer to him at the realization that he did indeed feel lighter than he had in longer than he could remember. It wasn't difficult to guess at the cause of this.

Maryse squeezed him back before pulling away to look at him curiously, her eyes confirming his guess.

"Jace," she began, "These last few years have been," she paused, as if the word was lodged in her throat, "hard on all of us and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't noticed the particular effect it's had on you. You've become a bit of a recluse. You've shut yourself in so tightly that I was worried no one would be able to get you out again. Isabelle and Alec have found ways to cope, but you just seemed to shut down."

"Takes one to know one," Jace replied, his voice heavy.

Maryse's gaze on his tightened for a moment as his words dawned on her. She exhaled slowly and continued, "And I can see now that maybe I never offered a better example for dealing with pain. But all of a sudden, this girl shows up and you're living with her and it's like you light up whenever she's with you. I don't think you were this happy before everything happened. It's all so sudden and so good for you. It's just-" she broke off, her eyes clouding over as her thoughts became more distinct in her mind.

"Just what?" he prompted, alarmed at her pause. She wasn't the type of person to phrase something delicately.

She sucked in a breath as if gathering strength and concluded, "You've just been getting so much better and I'm worried that you'll be even worse than before when she leaves."

When she leaves.

The words felt like a punch to the gut and he felt the air leave his lungs in a whoosh. He almost winced at the strange ache that formed in his chest at the prospect.

Here was the reality he'd sought to ignore presented before him in all of its ugliness.

Of course Maryse was concerned. She was right.

Jace exhaled slowly and let the words hang in the air with all of the lightness of an anchor.

He could feel her studying him for a reaction and felt a lingering irritation that he'd given her one. He shook his head to dispel the voice that haunted him and tried to regain focus on Maryse. He felt her arm reach out to squeeze his arm, but experienced none of the comfort that typically accompanied the action.

His mind was on a redhead on the other side of the door and he wanted nothing more than to see her.

He became aware of the fact that Jordan had reentered the kitchen upon Maryse's command and the hustle of movement invaded his senses. He realized he'd left Maryse hanging in a way and offered her a lackluster, "I'll be fine. I've got it all under control. Don't worry."

With a peck on her forehead, he made his escape back into the diner to find it nearly empty now. Jordan had probably come back to clear and wash the dishes and Clary was refilling the napkin holders at the counter. Maryse emerged from the kitchen a moment after, her eyes heavy on Jace as she urged him to return to her. He steadily avoided her eyes as he made his way towards the only thing that made the day seem a little brighter.

She'd stopped what she was doing and moved to meet him halfway, her brow furrowed in a concern as she seemed to pick up on some of his mood.

When he reached her, Clary instinctively reached out a hand and placed it on his forearm gently. He instantly felt his apprehensions ease and could do very little to stop what came next.

Without stopping to think of the consequences he reached out and pulled her into his arms in what was a soft hug. She let out a gasp in surprise and Jace stiffened at the realization that she could quite easily push him away. After an anxiety ridden moment, she relaxed into his arms and ran her hands up his biceps until they rested on his shoulders. He tightened his grip on her in response, overwhelmingly pleased by the sensation of her body against his. Her hands moved to his neck so that one of her soft palms rested against the nape of his neck and the other rested on top of it.

One of his arms was wrapped around her waist and the other moved to the back of her head to her hair, which was softer than he could even comprehend at the moment. He felt like he was in sensory overload. He'd always been careful with physical contact between the two of them because even the smallest brush of the hand sent a jolt of electricity through him that left him tingling afterwards.

Now, the smooth skin of her face was pressed into the nook of his neck and their bodies bled together until it was easy enough for him to forget that they were two separate individuals. Her scent surrounded him to such an extent that he thought he'd drown in it and couldn't even begin to mind the prospect.

Her breathing had become soft and calm since she'd relaxed into him and he knew his must've reflected the same. The fact that he wasn't shaking was only accomplished by a true feat of his will. He thought he'd die there in that moment.

But he'd never felt more at ease.

Slowly, hesitantly, he became aware of how inappropriately he was behaving and pulled away. After a moment of hesitation that almost had him pulling her back to him, Clary followed his lead, slowly unravelling herself from him. The loss felt like how he imagined the loss of a limb would feel. He could almost feel her still against him, but that did little to ease how uncomfortable he was without her.

Her cheeks were flushed slightly, but her eyes were wide and excited, almost as if she wasn't sure what had just occurred, but she liked its potential. He studied her for a moment, waiting for her face to fall and close itself off, but her expression remained unchanged.

When it occurred to him that he was staring at her, he smiled gently and tried to explain, "I'm really sorry. I don't know why I did that and I'm pretty sure it crossed a line, but I just really needed a hug," he paused, adding honestly, "As lame as that sounds."

Her cheeks reddened significantly and her smile took on an almost shy quality.

"That's alright. You looked upset, so I'll let it slide," she smiled at him wryly, "This time, blondie. Don't get any ideas or anything. Next time it happens, I'll hit you."

His smile twisted into a smirk and he leaned in close to her ear, letting the few wayward strands of her hair brush his cheek. Slowly, letting his breath spread down her collarbone, he stated, "Are you lying to me," he paused taking in a movement from her that appeared to be a shiver, "Or yourself, Clary?"

He heard her suck in a breath and couldn't help but chuckle lightly, overwhelmingly pleased by her response to him. He felt something light in his chest that he couldn't identify as he pulled away.

With another sly smirk, Jace concluded, "See you later. I've got to get to work."

She didn't respond and he didn't wait for a response. He made sure to brush by her as he left, knowing that it took him slightly out of his way to leave the diner through the back.

As he made his way to the Blackthorn's house, he pondered over this new feeling until he could almost name it, although the name he found didn't quite suffice.

Against his better judgment, he felt hope bloom in his chest.

Hope for what exactly, he couldn't be sure, but he knew without a doubt he'd regret it.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Sorry I'm late. It's finals week and that's genuinely all of the excuse that I have. I hope you guys aren't mad at me. I'm genuinely hoping that things will calm down soon and allow me to update with more frequency. Hope you guys like this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this story except for my sick sense of where the story should go.**

Chapter 16

"Let me take you out to dinner."

It'd reached the time of day, she was learning, when the people who'd been drinking since five decided that Maryse's cooking would be the smartest choice they could make that day.

Usually they were decent. A little rowdy and sloppy, but fine people nonetheless. In fact, in her time at the diner, a whopping two days, she'd never had experience with any of the patrons with the occasional exception of a snotty girl or two convinced that Clary was out to lock down Jace. She'd received more than one "talk" from a jealous girl warning her that she didn't stand a chance with Jace so should just back off now before she got hurt. Naturally, she neglected to tell Jace of the event because she knew it'd upset him.

Tonight however she had the misfortune of attracting the eye of a particularly obnoxious drunk man around the age of 30 who'd decided that she was his newest challenge.

He'd been hitting on her for the entirety of his time there only to be met with a cool indifference she'd spent years perfecting, so when the invitation slipped past his lips, she wasn't necessarily surprised.

What did surprise her was the intense feeling of disappointment that accompanied his words, along with a vivid sensation of a different voice making that same request.

Clary shuddered against the foreign feeling and stated a brusque, "No, thank you," before clearing his table. He guffawed lightly at her rejection, for some reason having perceived her as giving into his efforts, and the two men sitting at his table with him laughed at his failure. Before he had the chance to offer her a snide comment or a flirtatious remark, she disappeared into the kitchen and deposited his plates into the sink full of soapy water into which she deposited dirty dishes.

When her hands were free, leaned against the wall nearest the door and let her shoulders slump forward. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to dispel the image of Jace from her mind, which was a task that was easier said than done.

Their relationship had been heavier from the get-go. Of that she'd almost always been aware. And while she knew a lot of that was because of how they met, she couldn't deny that a lot of it was something else. For whatever reason, she connected with him on a level that she didn't understand.

He was funny and smart and he challenged her. He was thoughtful and cocky and honest.

She trusted him, despite the voice in the back of her head that told her she was stupid for doing so, and she hadn't thought she'd ever experience that.

When she was with him, she didn't feel damaged or dark. She felt normal. More than that, she felt good. She'd never before been able to look at herself as more than the product of evil, but it was impossible to feel that way when he looked at her as if he'd never seen anything like her.

On top of all of this brewing between them was a blatant sexual tension, at least on her end, as evidenced by how affected she was by something as simple as a hug. Whenever he touched her, she felt her heart pick up its pace and her skin broke out into goosebumps. It was all very cliché, but she couldn't deny how real it was.

There was such a simplicity to her feelings for him, despite the complexity of everything else going on around her, that baffled her. There was something natural about the two of them together and there was something so easy about being attracted to a handsome man that stood out as bizarre when compared to the other moments of her life.

When everything was simple and easy, what could possibly be wrong?

A pair of black eyes that usually hovered near the edge of her consciousness pushed their way to the forefront of her thoughts and she remembered a promise.

You will never be free of me, Clary. I'll haunt you until the day you die. I am your ghost.

Clary shuddered and exhaled a shaky breath at the accuracy of the promise.

I'm not far enough yet.

The words had become almost like a defense mechanism. They implied that someday, she'd be far enough away and free. Finally free. She just needed to keep moving.

This complicated things.

And to make matters worse: Jace was very clearly interested in her.

Although he was in every way too good for her, he'd made his intentions very clear, which added a degree of possibility to everything she was experiencing. If he hadn't been so obvious, she could've pretended that it was unrequited and run away with minimal regrets, but he hadn't given her that option.

And he'd done that on purpose.

"Are you alright, Clary?"

Clary jumped slightly at the sound of Jordan's voice and opened her eyes to find both Jordan and Maryse studying her carefully. Maryse's usually intimidating gaze was probing and Clary got the sense that the older woman could read her mind.

She offered the pair an uneasy smile and answered, "Sorry. I'm just a little tired. Don't worry. I'll get back to work."

Ignoring the looks of disbelief from her boss and coworker, Clary exited the kitchen to find that the atmosphere had changed. She scanned the area to find the source of the charged mood only to have her eyes land immediately on a pair of golden ones. The surprise at seeing Jace seated at the counter chatting amiably was only made stronger by her confusion as to why she was surprised. It was nearly closing time and he'd been away working all day. Of course he'd returned to get her.

Perhaps she was surprised by how easily she'd sensed his presence.

Perhaps she was surprised by how quickly her apprehensions melted into excitement when she noticed it was him.

He offered her a pleased smile when she emerged from the kitchen and she almost felt like sighing contentedly at sight.

How was she ever going to give this up?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Why are you crying?"

She sniffled slightly in response, probably intentionally as she knew how much he hated the sound. It was not only disgusting but it was akin to a vocal condemnation. It was a bony finger pointing at him. It was a harsh voice screaming, "Look what you've done."

He thought maybe her effect on him would lessen over time. He'd certainly walked into her room to find her crying a billion times before, so it would stand to reason that by now, it'd cease to wound him.

And yet, he felt a familiar anxiety rise in his chest.

She was in her bed with her back against the head of it and her knees pulled to her chest tightly. Her hands were buried in her wild red curls and he had no doubt that her grip was causing her pain. Though tears flowed freely from her eyes, her face exhibited a flat disinterest that scared him more than anything ever had.

He slowly crossed the threshold into the room, noting how she flinched at the intrusion, and slowly neared her bed after making sure to shut the door behind him.

It was dark, but light streamed in from her barred window enough to illuminate the room slightly. Around the floor were scraps of paper that were surely the results of her sketching. He glanced around to see what she'd drawn only to become more confused when he could only make out sharp, dark pencil marks sporadically place about the papers.

He paused his advance to stoop down and pluck one of her works from the ground. After straightening it from the paper ball she'd made it into, he studied the scene with marked concern.

What he saw was a drawing of Clary's face and an outline of her torso. It appeared as though she'd drawn eyes and then roughly erased them, leaving only black smudges in their place. Her mouth was upturned into a… well it wasn't quite a smile. There was something too sweet about the expression in contrast to the bags around the black holes that represented her eyes that unsettled him.

She'd sketched out her slim shoulders and the top of her chest. Where her heart would lay beneath her ribs, she drew only a piece of what appeared to be glass. Her skill was apparent, but the darkness of her depiction of herself was off-putting.

He placed it down on the bed between before drawing his eyes up to meet hers.

"Clary, you know you don't look like that. You're good."

"Is that why you love me?"

The question was an accusation and it caught him by surprise. She wasn't acting like herself at all. Usually she'd ignore him until he left or cry more and beg him to leave. She'd never challenged him when she was like this and she'd certainly made it clear that she didn't understand him.

So why had her words cut right through him.

"Yes. I love you because you're good."

"And you're not good?"

He almost flinched, but forced himself to remain strong under her gaze. He was in control here, not her.

She was his. Nothing more.

So why did he feel like she owned him?

"No. I'm not. I never will be."

"I think I understand you," she whispered, her voice broken and ragged.

"Don't say that," he whispered, his voice more pleading than he would have liked.

"I hate myself for it."

"Stop," he ordered, his voice firmer but still quiet in the screaming room. Blood was rushing to his head with such speed that he was sure he'd faint. No. No. To faint would be a sign of weakness. He would not be weak.

She would not make him weak.

"I thought I was good," he clenched his jaw as her words pounded into his skull, trying to take root in his mind, "I tried to be good."

"Clary, stop it right now." He was angry now. He perceived it like one perceived that one was falling. There was an inevitability to it that kept him from being able to rein himself in.

"I was good." Her voice was earnest and she looked into his eyes with focus rather than appearing like she was looking through him. He almost wish she'd train her gaze elsewhere out of concern for what she saw. Shame flooded through him almost as strongly as anger.

"It's not my fault," he barked, relishing in the way she trembled and hating himself for it all the same.

"I understand you," she stated, her voice frustrated. She was trying to make him see. Why couldn't he see?

"I didn't choose this, Clary. You chose this. They chose this," he was screaming now. His anger bounced off of the walls to strike him yet again, with more force than they did when they left.

"I hate me. I hate you, but I understand you. You know what this means, don't you?"

"Shut up, Clary!"

The shadow that had hung over face since he'd arrived cleared and her eyes reflected a grim understanding that scared the shit out of him.

"I'm not good anymore."

"Stop. I love you." He was desperate. Her words were choking him. Locking him away from his reason. He was scared of what he'd do to her if she said what he knew she'd say next.

"And it's your fault."

He woke up alone, in a cold sweat. He didn't jerk awake despite his pounding heart and jittering limbs. He laid still, waited for his senses to return to him in full capacity, and ordered his body to see reason.

It was a dream. Of course it was a dream. He'd been tricked because it began like many of their encounters before she'd left had, but by the end it was quite clear to him that his own mind was once again waging war on him.

He didn't reflect on why his body had reacted so fiercely to something he'd known was false.

He didn't reflect on why his mind had created that scene with which to torture him.

He didn't reflect on how true those events would become when he found her.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Ok, so I'm a little late on the update, but it's really not even that bad. And, if I'm being honest, I think this chapter is great. One of my best. And it does a lot to get me where I want to go with this story so, I hope you like it. Let me know if you do or if you don't! All reviews are good reviews! Enjoy!**

 **Note: In case anyone was wondering, the kinda weird sequence at the end of the last chapter was the Morgenstern's dream. I think one or two people thought it was Jace. It wasn't. It was the Morgenstern and it was a dream. I know it was weird, but I'm not a fan of one-dimensional characters or "absolute evil", because I don't know if there is such a thing. Every villain is a character and I intend to give our villain the same dimension that I hope I'm giving to Clary and Jace. I know some of you said that you almost like the guy and I'm kinda glad. The best villains are the ones we can sympathize with and maybe even begin to understand, so while I know it was weird, I'm pretty proud of it (although I should've been more clear about the POV) because it was weird and twisted and dark and sad like our Morgenstern is. I hope you guys did too. Sorry about the rant. I wanted to clear up confusion and, if I'm being honest, I love talking about my works. They're like my children.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own enthusiasm and that has proven to be more of a hindrance than a help. :/**

Chapter 17

"So what is there to do in this town?"

The question caught Jace by surprise. They'd been sitting on his couch in companionable silence since they'd left the diner. Clary had been definitively off since they'd come home. Nothing dramatic, as Jace was noticing nothing with her ever was, despite the circumstances. She'd just been subtly different.

Understanding Clary was a matter of paying attention. She was a typically pretty bubbly person. There was a bounce in her step that not even the heaviness in her heart could weigh down and he'd found that getting her to laugh once was just the push needed to unleash the giggles she'd been suppressing. Now, she laughed easily, though that was one of the only indications he had to see that she was growing more comfortable with him. She smiled now, which was a change, and it looked less like the Tin Man trying to move his face without any oil, thought it was still slightly timid.

Physical contact, despite the surprise hug, was also a mark of subtlety. They hadn't hugged again, but the action had broken a barrier between them. Suddenly, she'd brush by him and bump his shoulder. If their hands met by chance, though it was almost always intentional on his part, they both maintained the contact for several moments. Even now, she sat on the opposite end of the couch, her back against the arm and her legs outstretched so that her toes brushed his thigh.

He tried not to attribute meaning to her actions, but he couldn't help but feel that in the span of three days they'd come miles in only a few steps. And, though he could sense he hadn't completely gained her trust, he knew the amount he'd gained from her in such a short time was incredibly significant.

So they'd fallen into a sort of easy camaraderie, but when he'd returned to the diner that day, he could sense something was wrong. She'd emerged from the kitchen looking like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders and when she noticed him, that burden seemed to intensify as she studied him. It was only after he offered her a smile that she relaxed a bit and smiled back, although there was a tinge of melancholy in her expression that worried him.

They'd chatted and bantered like for the rest of her shift like nothing was wrong, but there was a restlessness in her actions that made it seem like she wanted nothing more than to run away. When she looked at him, it was without the usual intensity. She let her eyes ghost over him in a deliberately casual manner. He was pretty sure that she was attempting to distance herself, which, while it made sense considering she'd be leaving after three days, it stung.

So her question surprised him.

"Uhm, well there's a movie theater, a couple restaurants, and a night club. Nothing special and, as I'm a recluse, I haven't been to any of those places in quite some time," he answered, making his words deliberately slow to give himself time to guess at her reason for asking.

She was avoiding his eyes. Hers were trained on the local newspaper he'd bought earlier, but they didn't move to scan the page as if she were reading it. Instead, they were trained on one spot.

Without moving her eyes from the page she was pretending to read, she asked, her voice casual, "Do you dance?"

Jace's eyebrows rose in astonishment. Once again, he'd been flummoxed by this girl.

"I, well," he stammered, trying his best to reign in his surprise, "I suppose I could. Why do you ask?"

Clary let the question hang in the air for a moment, moving her eyes deliberately across the page, before finally folding up the paper and letting her eyes find his. She shrugged and stood after a moment, standing on her toes to stretch lightly.

She smiled lightly at him, still feigning indifference, and answered with a question of her own.

"Would it be crossing a line to ask you to take me to the club?"

It took nearly all of Jace's restraint to keep his jaw from dropping.

"Damn, Clary," he muttered under his breath, studying the perplexing woman in front of him.

She took his outburst as rejection and immediately began to back track, "No, of course. You're right. It was just an idea. Please ignore me."

"No," he interrupted, aware that if he'd left her to continue she would've stammered until she found an excuse to leave the room. He let out a laugh as he felt his chest lighten and before he could stop himself, he asked, "Are you asking me out on a date, firecracker?"

His words' effect on her was almost immediate. Her cheeks became flames and her eyes narrowed at him as if he was challenging her. It was remarkable to him that though her face indicated that he'd embarrassed her, she still eyed him as if she was undoubtedly in charge and, to be honest, he couldn't combat the assertion of her stance. Ever since she'd arrived in his life, he'd been merely trying to keep up with her.

It felt sort of… nice to follow her lead.

"Is that a yes or no to taking me dancing?"

It was a clear challenge and a blatant disregard of his question. He considered asking her again, but something about the glint in her eye told him that he likely wouldn't like the answer.

So, he stood up instead and glanced at his watch like he was considering his answer. That was probably when she figured out that he'd say yes. Even Simon knew he had absolutely zero ability to say no to her, as he mewed in what could only be described as amusement as Clary squealed in delight. Now that was a sound he could get used to.

He glanced up from his show with the watch to catch the glee on her face. She clapped once, as if she honestly thought he'd say no, and held a finger up.

"I just need one second to make myself look like a regular human person, rather than some lumpy monster. Stay there," she ordered before bouncing into his room and shutting the door behind her.

Jace chuckled lightly at her enthusiasm, enthralled with just how cute she was. He was reminded that she was only 18, even though everything about the look in her eyes indicated that she'd seen and done far more than those 18 years merited.

He glanced at Simon, somehow sensing that this cat was the only creature alive who understood Clary like he wanted to. The cat was studying him intensely and Jace, once more reminded himself that this was a cat and he was insane.

But this cat had been following Clary around for who knows how long and providing her the comfort she could never count on from anyone else. This cat was incredibly devoted to Clary and, honestly, he understood why.

God, he was relating to a cat. This girl was driving him nuts.

"What am I gonna do with her, Simon?" he muttered, laughing at the mess that his life was becoming.

"With who?"

Jace glanced away from the surprisingly emotive feline in front of him to see that Clary had emerged from his bedroom. She'd changed from his sweatpants to the pair of black leggings he'd picked up for her earlier that day. He figured wearing his shirts was a convenient temporary solution the problem of her lack of clothes, but there was no way they could get away with clothing her in his pants and her jeans were so thin that she might as well have strutted around without pants, although that was never in his mind an option, thought Clary had teased him about it when he'd made a similar retort to him. So, he'd asked her for her size, argued with her about the necessity of new pants, had a door slammed in his face, and bought her three pairs of pants in the smallest size they had.

She'd yelled at him when she found out what he'd done, but he noticed that she was wearing a pair now. He didn't pretend to be a genius stylist, so he'd gone simple: a pair of jeans, a pair of sweatpants, and a pair of black leggings. It was the leggings she wore now, underneath one of his t-shirts, which she'd rolled at the bottom so that a corner of it rested at her waist and the other corner draped over her hip. The shirt was V-neck and had the name of an obscure band that he'd never even listened to. The actual shirt was white, but the sleeves were a dark blue that looked lovely in contrast with her pale skin and red hair, which she'd twisted into a bun.

"Why yes, Clary, you may borrow my shirt," he quipped, not even a little bothered that she'd grabbed it without asking. If anything, he appreciated the familiarity she'd displayed in the action.

She stuck her tongue out at him and retorted, "Well, I have to use what you've already got because I never know when you're going to go rogue and buy me new clothes."

He laughed again and clapped his hands together in amusement at her antics. He could tell she was grateful. The fact that she was wearing the pants told him that much. She just didn't know how to tell him, and that was ok. He didn't need to hear a thank you. She was happy and safe and that was more than he could have ever hoped for.

"Well, how do they fit?" he asked, enjoying the twinkle in her eye.

Her smile widened and he detected the slightest hint of a blush invade her features as she answered, "Well actually. I'm surprised you guess right, but if I'm being honest, I suspect you just bought the smallest size available."

He clutched a hand to his heart jokingly and smiled devilishly at her, as his response formed in his mind.

"You wound me. I'm a little more thoughtful than that. I wanted to ensure you got the best fit available, so I," he paused, taking in her amused futures, "bought them from the children's section."

Her reaction was immediate. Her jaw dropped and she let out a horrified gasp before lunging at him.

He was way too amused to even considering moving out of the way, not that he would have if he had considered it. So he felt all 12 of the pounds her body currently housed ram into him with surprising force. He felt himself fall backwards and laughed even more loudly as he wrapped an arm around Clary's waist, earning himself a startled shout.

They fell to the ground with a crash and responded only with laughter from both sides. Clary was resting snugly atop Jace's chest with her forehead leaning against his neck as she attempted to reign in her laughter. He loosened his grip around her waist, determined to make her more comfortable, though he didn't release her entirely from his grasp.

When she lifted her head, Clary's eyes were light and stayed on his with an intensity that shocked him considering the levity of the moment. Her smile was fuller than he'd ever seen it and everything about her in this moment exuded unrestraint. She smacked a hand on his chest lightly and exclaimed, "You're a real jerk, you know that?"

"If by jerk, you mean charming and witty, then, why yes, I do know that."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and let out one last laugh, letting her eyes study his face freely, without embarrassment.

He smiled back at her just as widely, feeling like this was the closest he's ever gotten to seeing the real Clary.

When her eyes found his once more, she smiled again, more softly this time. He couldn't quite identify the look in her eyes, but, if he had to put a word to it, he'd have picked the word adoration.

All of his breath left him in a whoosh and he felt his chest tighten at the realization.

He'd been pretty sure that this thing between them was reciprocated, but he'd never received such a clear sign as the look on her face in that moment. He felt his body begin to tingle like he'd been electrocuted and he couldn't seem to mind the sensation.

And the greatest part about the realization was that his face must've reflected the same emotion.

They maintained the mood for a moment more – no walls, no pretense, no secrets. Just two people who were crazy about each other.

It was almost physically painful to watch her realize her vulnerability and revert back. Up went her walls. Gone was the transparency between them. In a moment, she jumped seamlessly back into the role she'd been playing since she'd gotten there. That she didn't notice how he felt about her. That she didn't feel the same.

That she could leave him in four days without looking back.

She mumbled an apology as her cheeks lit up and she pulled herself off of him. He laid there for a moment more, feeling like the weight of their circumstances was physically keeping him there.

Damn, this was hard.

She offered him a hand and he took it without hesitation, letting her attempt to pull him up on her own.

"Put your back into firecracker or else I'll never be able to take you out," he teased, deliberately making himself dead weight.

She laughed lightly and proclaimed, "Well maybe this is a sign that someone needs to lay off of Maryse's pancakes."

They were back to the way they'd been before, which was great, but he'd been given a glimpse of a Clary that was totally free to be herself and feel what she felt for him, and, honestly, going back after that was tough.

It gives me something to work towards, he promised himself, concerned that whatever burden she was shouldering was too heavy for him to lift off of her.

He finally pushed himself up and quipped, "Or maybe this is a sign that I should take you to my gym. Your muscle mass, my dear, sweet firecracker, is nonexistent."

She slapped his arm in response, but he could tell she was both amused and relieved that he hadn't decided to push her after that moment between them, though they both knew he wanted to.

But he'd promised her patience. And patience was one of the many thing he'd never be able to deny her.

Because one thing was for sure.

Clary was certainly worth the wait.

"How do I look?" she asked, possibly unaware of the dilemma he was mentally working through.

"Gorgeous," he answered honestly, stepping towards her as he took her in. "But there's just one thing…"

Her brow furrowed in confusion as he closed the distance between them to reach up and carefully free her hair from the rubber band she'd wrapped around it. As her curls fell around her shoulders, her face shifted from confusion to embarrassed and pleased.

"There," he stated, slightly breathless from just how beautiful she was, "You're perfect."

"Great," she stated, her voice sounding oddly breathy. "You ready?"

He nodded and led her out the door, though honestly he wasn't sure if he was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He discovered quickly that Clary very much liked to dance.

It admittedly wasn't difficult to discover, as the second they entered Alicante's only nightclub, Pandemonium, she'd dragged him to the center of the dance floor and refused to let him leave it.

Well, refused is a strong word. He hadn't really tried to leave her side, but when he'd suggested getting them drinks after almost an hour of dancing, he'd been silenced with a borderline venomous stare. That shut him up, without further statement.

Not that it mattered. He was having a genuinely fun time with her.

He hadn't been to Pandemonium in nearly two years, though before then he'd been a regular at the rather mediocre spot. But he couldn't remember ever having nearly as much fun here then. He assumed he'd feel uncomfortable returning, but, despite a few curious stares from its patrons who knew him mostly as the town's former playboy turned recluse, being there with Clary felt natural.

He enjoyed watching her dance, because the way she moved was loose and free and the joy in her eyes was all too real. If he could get to see that look on her face again, he'd take her dancing every night, even though his own moves consisted mainly of a head nod and occasional step from side-to-side.

Besides, dancing presented an excuse for physical contact for both of them apparently.

Jace had been determined to make her comfortable and ease any pressure she might have perceived him as applying. He knew that they were in a good spot and making good progress, so pushing that was the last thing he needed to do. So he was surprised to find her uncharacteristically touchy throughout the night. It, again, was nothing remarkable. She'd grab his hand occasionally and make him spin her. She'd give his arm a squeeze whenever he made a face that made her laugh. Once or twice she'd leaned on him and once, only once, she'd allowed him to spin her and pull her back in, holding her to his chest for a beat longer than was typical.

It was all rather fantastic, if he was being honest.

Following her lead, he'd taken to brushing her hair behind her ear occasionally and brushing against her with some frequency.

He figured she probably viewed this as a casual setting to establish physical contact that she could explain away if he tried to attribute meaning to her actions. Though maybe this should've put him off a bit, he couldn't help but feel incredibly grateful to her for suggesting dancing.

When a slow song played, Jace hesitated to pull her in. He wasn't sure if that'd be pushing her too far. She, too, seemed uncertain as to what to do in this situation. Summoning up all of his bravery, Jace extended a hand to her and offered her a crooked smile.

"Dance with me."

The words only hung between them for a moment before she gulped and accepted his offer. He pulled her closer and placed the hand that wasn't holding hers on her waist. She hesitated for a moment before placing her own free hand on his shoulder.

Her face was turned upwards toward his and he couldn't believe just how small she seemed in his arms. The top of her head only came to his shoulder and he had no doubt that he could've encircled her entire waist with his hands. And yet, there was a strength in her posture and a life in her green eyes for which her size would never account.

"Thank you for this," Clary stated, her eyes focused on his. Her mouth shifted from a slightly bewildered expression into a soft smile as she added lightly, "Jace."

God, he loved the sound of his name on her lips.

"Anytime," he answered sincerely, pleased beyond belief that he was in this particular situation.

"I've never really been dancing before," she admitted. Though it was dark, he could imagine her cheeks coloring slightly at the confession.

"Really? Never? Not even school dances?"

She looked away from him in embarrassment and replied, "Nope. Not once."

"Why not? You clearly love it," he asked, partially concerned that she'd be put off by the question and shut down on him again.

She paused, convincing him that that was indeed the case, before finally answer, "Well, for one, nobody asked me to school dances."

Jace gasped loudly, turning a few heads with his dramatics, "I don't believe that for one second. With a mug like that? No way."

She laughed at his theatrics and played along, "I know it doesn't sound believable, but it's true. Some men just can't handle a face like this." She sucked in her cheeks so that her lips looked like a fish and crossed her eyes, earning herself another laugh from Jace. He could tell that he'd made the right choice by taking her admittance semi-casually. He'd been hoping to make it seem more natural and assure her that he'd take everything he learned about her in stride. Clearly, he'd succeeded.

"Why did no one ask you? Braces? Acne? Let me guess. You exclusively wore footy pajamas?"

She burst out laughing again and had to lean her head on his chest as she calmed herself down. He noticed that they'd slowly moved closer and were now nearly chest-to-chest.

"No, nothing like that. I was just always sort of off-limits. I had a bit of a reputation."

He sensed that her answer made her uncomfortable and presented only a fraction of the truth, but he knew that she would've told him more if she'd wanted to. He'd simply have to be patient, a word with which he was very familiar in regards to her.

"Okay. Why did you never go by yourself? Or with your friends?"

The question seemed safe enough, but he figured out that the answer with which she either would or would not present him was loaded when she scrutinized his face immediately afterwards.

She was making a choice on whether or not to trust him. Of that he was clear.

She'd trusted him before with things like her safety and small pieces of herself, but those she only did either because she had no other choice or because trusting him with them presented no real risk to her.

This was the first time she was deliberately deciding whether or not she trusted him enough to present him with a valuable piece of the puzzle she'd presented herself as.

He held his breath, waiting for a response, and was overwhelmed with relief when she answered, "I never really had very many friends. I used to when I was younger, but I learned pretty quickly that the people around me typically got hurt. So, dancing never seemed important."

He didn't have to wonder if she was telling the truth. She'd, to his knowledge, never lied to him before and the intensity of her gaze confirmed for him that this was not the exception.

It was a warning, as much as an admission. He knew she truly believed what she was saying was the truth, and perhaps it was, and she hadn't said it for his benefit alone, but the look on her face made it clear that her words applied just as much to him as they did to her.

She was studying him and he knew without a doubt that this was one of those times when his response was incredibly important.

He allowed an almost lazy smile to spread across his face as he considered his answer.

"I look forward to being the exception to that rule."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews! The story is getting closer to what I'd refer to as the climax. It's gonna get pretty intense on all fronts soon enough. I hope you guys like this! It's a smidge filler-ish. Let me know what you think.**

Chapter 18

"So you're kind of a masochist, huh?"

Jace could do nothing but laugh in response at her dramatics. He'd certainly started to enjoy Clary's more childish side.

Childish was the perfect word to describe the girl who, after the early morning jog she'd insisted to join him on, had plopped to the ground in front of his house and covered her face with her arm, wailing about how torturous the experience was for her.

"You really do that every morning?" Clary gasped, feigning a shortness of breath that he was quite sure she wasn't experiencing.

Jace chuckled easily as he plopped down next to her on the ground so that she was on her back, one arm thrown away from her torso and one over her face, and he was seated cross-legged next to her.

"You didn't have to come with me, firecracker."

She scoffed and groaned, "You basically forced me to join you."

"I told you blatantly that you didn't have to go, Clary," Jace stated, enjoying their banter.

"I think your actual words were along the lines of if I didn't think I could keep up, I could sleep some more," she quipped, peeking up at him from behind her arm.

Jace smirked at her, pleased with her amused expression, and retorted, "Well, it's certainly not my fault that you chose not to be the bigger person in that situation." He let his eyes travel up and down her body appraisingly before adding, "Although, I suppose genetics didn't give you much of a choice in that regard."

Clary let out one booming sound of surprise as she removed her arm from her face to smack him in the arm twice. Jace paid her the respect of muttering "Ow" and rubbing his arm, though her attack didn't cause him any pain.

"I hate you," she muttered, feigning irritation.

"Liar," he teased, letting the amusement of the moment fade before continuing, "You actually did a really good job of keeping up with me despite the fact that you are at least a foot shorter than me. I would never have guessed you were in such good shape, firecracker."

Clary cocked an eyebrow at him challengingly and questioned, "And what exactly does that mean, blondie?"

His smile grew wider and he shook his head at her. Damn, she was feisty.

"You know exactly what I mean. You weigh approximately 100 pounds and appear to be the definition of delicate, but you nearly kept my pace today and aren't even winded now. Yesterday, you managed to knock me off my feet even though I'm nearly twice your size and in practically peak physical condition," she rolled her eyes at this, though for once he was pretty sure he wasn't being cocky. He played soccer rather competitively in high school and was particularly skilled in MMA. He was fit and it was a fact, but he'd earned it. He ignored her skepticism and continued, "So, it's clear that you're a bit of an athlete yourself. Once again, your size is incredibly deceptive."

She smirked lightly, her eyes shining with pride before reticence took its place. She allowed his words a moment to sink in and he was quite positive that she was very carefully composing an answer to his unasked question as they did so.

"I suppose you could say that. My father didn't appreciate weakness, so he encouraged me to take martial arts and self-defense classes. It helped to remain pretty fit," she answered glibly, as though she hadn't just revealed an incredibly interesting fact about herself.

Both of his eyebrows shot up before he could curb his reaction and he attempted to apply this new knowledge to his perception of her. Though she struck him as incredibly sensitive and, in some ways, fragile, this fact seemed to fit perfectly with the girl who asserted her independence above all things and strove, more than anything, to take care of herself.

Of course this girl could kick a little ass if she wanted to.

"Damn," he muttered, eying her with a newfound appreciation, "You're kind of a badass, aren't you?"

Her cheeks colored lightly and the corners of her lips turned upwards, apparently pleased that he thought so.

"No," she corrected, only thinly veiling her joy with a stern voice, "I'm a total badass."

"I stand corrected," he amended, his smile practically splitting his face in two. "So if you're basically the Terminator, why are you pretending to be tired?"

She grinned mischievously at him and shrugged lightly. After pushing herself into a seated position, she answered, "Because I guess you're pretty fun to tease."

"Good," he replied, moving his eyes from hers to the distance, as his smile grew to a knowing one. When she cocked an eyebrow at him, he added, "Things are going exactly according to plan."

Clary laughed and smacked him on the shoulder lightly, pulling herself to her feet and disappearing into his house without a final word. Almost as if she didn't want to consider the possibility that he might be telling the truth.

Which, of course, he was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jace returned to the diner towards the end of Clary's shift, he was borderline horrified to find Sebastian sitting at the counter chatting with her.

Her eyes shot up to greet him, as they almost always did and she smiled as he approached. It wasn't a relieved smile or one that indicated that she was suffering in any way, so he couldn't imagine that Sebastian was being too abrasive, but his anxiety at the possibilities were still through the roof.

He loved Sebastian. His friend was clever and funny and always helped him forget just how insane everything going on around him could be. Beneath a goofy exterior, Jace also knew that his friend cared a good deal about him and, should Jace have wanted to open or rely on him, he would've stepped up and been there.

That being said, Sebastian was a flirt and he had almost no filter. He almost couldn't help the things that came out of his mouth. It was just in his nature to be so brash.

So Jace had two concerns going into this encounter.

His first was that Sebastian had been flirting with Clary shamelessly and had made her incredibly uncomfortable or, even worse, incredibly comfortable, although he doubted this was the case. He was fairly confident that this thing between he and Clary was mutual.

His second was that Sebastian had opened his big fat mouth and aired Jace's dirty laundry for Clary to see. He'd already made hints about Jace's colored past to Clary and he'd only talked to her for maybe a minute.

"There's the golden boy! We were just talking about you," Sebastian greeted, smiling widely at Jace despite his friend's glare.

"Really? What about?" Jace asked, his eyes on Sebastian.

His friend, for his part, rolled his eyes and stated, "Geez, lighten up, Jace. I know I was rude last time I met her, but I've been nice, I swear. We were talking about how great you are."

Jace was visibly taken aback, earning himself a chuckle from Clary, to whom he looked for confirmation.

"He actually was being pretty nice, Jace. You don't need to worry," she assured him, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. As always, Jace was incredibly comforted by the action despite his still lingering doubts.

"Really? You were just being nice and friendly and talking me up?" Jace questioned.

Sebastian laughed at his friend's suspicion and replied, "My God, Jace! Enough with the third degree! I just wanted to make it clear to Clary that your oldest friend isn't an asshole and to get to know her a bit. You've been keeping her under lock and key and I wanted to see who it is that's had you so electrified."

Clary's cheeks reddened and Jace rolled his eyes and exclaimed, "Have you ever had the ability to not say everything on your mind, or were you embarrassing your mom in the womb?"

Sebastian didn't even have the decency to fake outrage at his friend's irritated remonstration, instead only offering the pair a shameless grin.

"Well, I can see that I'm moments away from being punched by my oldest friend, so I think I should go. It's been lovely Clary," he concluded, shooting Clary a mischievous wink before bolting out of the diner before Jace could react.

When he was gone, Jace pinched the bridge of his nose as if Sebastian was causing him physical pain and stated, "I'm not sure what he said exactly, but I'm almost positive this is applicable regardless: I'm sorry."

Clary smiled brightly at Jace and quirked her eyebrows at him in an amused expression.

"He actually was quite nice, Jace. It was nice to get to know one of your friends."

That piqued his interests.

"Really? And why is that?"

Clary furrowed her brow in confusion and answered, "It helps me get to know you."

"You want to get to know me, then?"

Her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. Clearly, she was beginning to see where his questions were leading her.

"I," she began, pausing to get her bearings, "Of course I do."

"Good," he mused, smiling at her confidently, "I want to get to know you too."

There was a challenge in her gaze as it rested on his and, also, a search. She was looking for something in his eyes, though what it was he doubted he'd ever know.

When it seemed certain that she'd either found it or given up looking, she turned her head away and glance down at the counter.

"Maybe," she hesitated, her eyes remaining on the counter. Her jaw was clenched as if her next words were literally being forced from her mouth against her body's will.

"Maybe that's what I want too."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ever since the nightmare, the Morgenstern found himself in the mutt's cell almost constantly.

He wasn't sure what the draw was of this man. He'd come to terms with the respect he held for him and the certain kinship he felt when considering this man's path. Yes, they'd both been rejected. Yes, they were both the only two people alive who loved Clary and knew what that entailed. Yes, this mutt looked him in the eye where so many men before him had been unable to do the same.

But with the mutt's complete dismissal of his feelings, the Morgenstern felt as though that link between the two of them had been severed.

Yet, here he was again, sitting outside of the mutt's jail cell, waiting for him to wake up and give him whatever it was he needed.

Not that he had any idea what that was. He found that he rarely did anymore.

The dog was not conscious when he entered as he thought he would be, so he decided leave and give him time to orient himself.

So, with that decided, he had absolutely no idea why he'd ordered the guard to grab him a chair and had proceeded to stare at the bleeding animal.

In fact, he studied his prisoner with an intensity that shocked even him.

Lucian Graymark had been brought before him as a fit man, who had a spirit in his eyes.

The dog in front of him was truly living up to his nickname. He was dirty and looked sickly, as being fed as poorly as the Morgenstern dictated he be fed was clearly taking its toll. The regular brutality his guards subjected him too was taking its toll. The Morgenstern found himself watching the blood trail down the mutt's forehead to his neck where it disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

It was a fascinating site actually, for whatever reason. He wondered why the blood didn't merely drip from his chin to the ground rather than continue down his throat. Perhaps it was because of the angle of his face, but the Morgenstern imagined it was his body's reluctance to abandon the forsaken dog.

The dog didn't wake up for hours and the Morgenstern made no moves to expedite the process.

A part of him almost wanted Lucian to rest. Regain his strength. He'd set out to break him, but a large part of him had hoped that he wouldn't be able to. He wanted to know that there were some things he couldn't break.

And if the mutt could stay intact despite his best efforts, surely Clary would be safe from him. After all, he loved Clary and she was much stronger than some dog.

So, he supposed that he returned to the kennel because, for him, it was his final hope. It was the only thing that could prove his premonition wrong.

When the mutt finally did stir, he still kept him waiting. First he groaned, but his eyes stayed shut. Then he strained against the manacles keeping his arms above his head and preventing him from even being allowed the respite of lying down.

He really was cruel.

The dog, after what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than seconds, pried his eyes open, wincing at his surroundings. Lazily, he noticed the Morgenstern and something that sounded like it could've been a laugh sounded from his throat, resulting in a round of harsh coughs. The Morgenstern watched with disdain as spit, mucus, and a little bit of blood flew around the room.

After he managed to reign in his coughs, he smiled confidently at his captor though he had no reason for confidence and asked, "What could you possibly want from me?"

A lie instantly arose in his mind, but he squashed it. Why should he lie to this animal?

"I'm not entirely sure, but I suspect it was for some form of reassurance."

Lucian's smile grew cocky and he asked, "And have you found it? Has staring at a bleeding, starving man given you confidence?"

The Morgenstern was too distressed to set his jaw and dismiss the dog like he knew he should. Instead he focused his gaze on the mutt's left shoulder to avoid his eyes and answered, "I don't think you understand."

The dog shifted slightly, groaning at the motion, before replying, "No I understand. You grew up with a bully, right? Everyone has always hated you for what you are, so now it's your turn to be the bully."

The Morgenstern grit his teeth, more than a little alarmed at how close to the truth this mutt was.

At his silence, the mutt continued, "I know you use that as an excuse for everything you've done. You use it to get out of taking responsibility for who you've become. So you've come to me looking for a reprieve."

He scoffed at the dog's words and quipped, "And what reprieve can you give me?"

"Well your excuses work when you kill other mob bosses or people who get in your way, but not even you can excuse your treatment of Clary."

The Morgenstern felt his eye twitch in irritation.

"Because she never bullied you. And, in fact, she was kind to you, which presents a whole other problem."

He didn't need to ask what the problem was. He knew and he didn't need to hear it. If he heard it, he could pretend a little while longer. But the mutt didn't care about that.

Without any more provocation, the mutt concluded, "It can't be easy to pretend that you're a monster because your father made you one when Clary is so good."

"You're pathetic," the Morgenstern exclaimed, though his voice lacked any conviction and both men knew that.

Graymark was bleeding, bruised, starving, and, by all means, broken. He'd lost.

So, why was it that every time he was in a room with this dog did he feel like the only loser?

"Mr. Morgenstern! Mr. Morgenstern!"

The guard's shout broke the spell of tension between the two as he ran into the room.

"What is it?" he snapped, a sense of dread pushing in at him.

The guard's eyes flicked between the Morgenstern and the mutt excitedly, his mouth turned slightly upwards in a smile. Surely he thought this news something the Morgenstern would like to hear.

"We have a lead on your girl. We know where to start looking.

The Morgenstern smiled widely and followed the guard out of the prison cell, both listening to what his henchmen had uncovered and trying to ignore the dog's screams.

Though he was one step closer to getting the only thing he'd ever wanted, he couldn't help but feel like he was one step closer to something else. Something bad.

But even as he felt this, he knew he couldn't stop what was coming. If going after Clary was going to cause something awful for him, then something awful was going to happen.

He couldn't stop. He _needed_ her.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I know I suck. I don't even have an excuse for why this was so late. I'm sorry. I did reward your patience though. I think this chapter will please you guys. I hope so anyway. Please let me know what you think of it and their relationship and the recent turn of events. Enjoy… or not. That's really your prerogative.**

 **Disclaimer: If only.**

Chapter 19

For what felt like the millionth time, Clary found herself struggling to discern where she was waking up.

She woke slowly, with each sense coming into awareness gradually, starting with her hearing. When her mind had fully shaken off most of the night's weariness, she tried to recollect the night before.

She didn't have to open her eyes to know that she hadn't made it to Jace's bed last night. That much was evident by the fact that she was sitting upright and she very clearly was tangled up with Jace.

His arm, which she was sure had begun its journey by resting on the back of the sofa, now covered her shoulder and held her snugly to his side. Her hands had somehow wound their way around Jace's free arm, which left his hand rested on her thigh. She, at some point, hooked her legs over his knees so that she was partially on his lap and they were thoroughly intertwined.

How had she allowed this to happen? She struggled to piece the night together in order to assure herself that this was the most unfortunate of her decisions.

So what had they done last night?

They'd left the café around closing time and he'd taken her to see a movie at the local movie theater. She couldn't remember if she'd enjoyed it simply because Jace had rested his arm around the back of her chair and she'd been able to feel the pressure of his forearm on the back of her neck. As if that wasn't enough to derail her focus, Jace angled his body so that his knee was pressed against hers. She was positive sure he'd done it on purpose, as evidenced by how steadfastly he avoided looking at her. She knew this, of course, because she kept covertly stealing glances at the handsome man next to her.

Although clearly she wasn't as covert as she would have liked to think, as whenever she did look over, his smile grew more and more satisfied until near the end of the movie he finally looked over at her and quirked his eyebrows coolly. That look alone made her curse him in her head. In what way was it fair that she got butterflies from knee contact, but he got to be cool, calm, and collected 24/7?

After they walked home with her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, they ended up chatting on his couch for hours about anything that came to their minds. None of it was serious. She left the event knowing just as much about him as she did before, but she certainly learned about him. She saw the way his eyes focused on some spot in the distance when he recalled some far off memory and the way his lips curled into a soft smile when the memory pleased him. She greedily absorbed all of this information as it came, attributing it the image of him that she already held.

She started dozing off midway through a story about her time waitressing before she'd left. Mid-sentence, she broke off and yawned loudly, earning herself a chuckle from Jace as she laid her head down on his shoulder.

She felt his arm tighten around her shoulders so that she was pressed more firmly to his side and he concluded, "It's amazing to me how little I know about you and, yet, I haven't felt this close with anyone in a long time."

Her eyes felt glued shut, but clearly her mouth didn't experience the same difficulty opening as she heard herself groggily mutter in return, "You may be the best thing that's ever happened to me. I don't know how I'm going to leave you."

She hadn't realized the implication of her words as she drifted asleep, but in the harsh light of day her mistake was clear to her.

She detangled herself very carefully from Jace, exhibiting a calmness in her movements that was completely contrary to her pounding heart. When she was free, she allowed herself only a moment to take in Jace's sleeping form, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened as she studied him.

He really was breathtaking. Physically, of course, he was beautiful, but Clary found herself more attracted to the beauty that laid underneath the surface that he'd allowed her to discover. Before her was a generous, thoughtful, funny, and caring man, whom she knew she could love if she gave herself the chance. As things were, she knew leaving him behind would be like leaving behind one's limb and any feelings she had for him would only inevitably grow more intense.

Placing a hand over her mouth, Clary tried to slow her breathing. She was falling fast here and there was nothing she could do about it. Tearing her eyes from the sleeping form of the man she'd come to care so much for, she escaped towards the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Without looking at her reflection, Clary turned on the cold water and splashed her face with water, instantly feeling a little better. After another deep, calming breath, she felt ready to face the world.

One look at her unruly mane in the mirror and Clary knew that brushing it would be a mess, so she gathered it as best she could and pulled it into a high ponytail. After brushing her teeth and patting down her hair once more she emerged from the bathroom to find Jace right outside of the door with his hand raised and ready to knock. He lowered it slowly and offered her a smile as his eyes traveled down the length of her body before returning to her face. Her face heated up at the intensity of his gaze.

She stepped by him in an attempt to get out of his way and managed to brush against him in the process. She was powerless to stop the shiver that tore through her body, to which Jace cocked his eyebrows and asked, "Chilly?"

"A little," she answered, her eyes locked on his. He turned his body away from the bathroom so that he faced her and brought a hand to her still flushed face.

A small smirk played on his lips as he challenged, "That's odd. Your face is pretty warm. Why is that?"

Clary glared at him, but the look held very little conviction as she felt her face go a shade darker. He was leaning increasingly closer to her and Clary was more than positive that she needed to move away from him before they did something they'd regret.

But she couldn't move away. Instead, she could only answer with a weak, "Not sure."

His hand hadn't left her face. It had only turned so that he cradled her cheek. The touch was gentle but it set her on fire. She was electrified and knew that if this moment ended, it would not be her choice. Whether it was wise or not, which it certainly was not, Clary couldn't deny herself whatever this was.

"I think we both know that's not true. Why are you pretending?"

This was a mistake. She knew that. She knew that she'd hurt him more this way. She knew this was the equivalent of ripping her own heart of her chest. She knew all of these things.

Their chests were touching. Her breathing was becoming more and more labored as he lowered his face to hers. Their noses brushed, but he moved no further, his eyes on her. He was waiting for her to call this off and she knew that she should.

But she couldn't convince herself that stopping whatever this was becoming was better than never having it at all.

"I don't know," Clary answered honestly, her arms travelling up his chest, slowly, reverently, until they found their way to his neck. His eyes widened slightly in surprise but she couldn't muster up any embarrassment or uncertainty. This was right.

She wanted this. He wanted this.

"I'm done pretending," Clary finished, slowly pushing herself up on her toes so that she met his lips. His response was immediate. He moved his mouth against hers slowly, tenderly. His touch was gentle and sweet, which was a side of Jace that Clary knew well. And for a moment, the kiss was just that.

But the tension between them had been building for so long that it had become explosive. His grip on her face tightened and his other arm circled her waist, pulling her impossibly close. Her hands moved from his neck to twist in his hair and his mouth moved furiously against hers. He nipped at her bottom lip, silently demanding entrance, which she willingly obliged. Their mouths moved together and things like air and distance seemed irrelevant. The kiss was the culmination of the electricity that had been between them since they'd met. This kiss was demanding and fierce and passionate, a side of Jace she'd also come to know.

She felt her back hit the wall and his body held her there. Every inch of his body was pressed to some part of hers and the sensation was almost too much for her to handle. His lips slid from her lips to her neck and the pressure made her head fall back against the wall. Before she could control herself a moan escaped her lips. If it was possible, Jace tightened his grip on her before growling irritatedly and moving his hands to the underside of her thighs and lifting her so that her legs were on either side of his hips. There was too much distance between them and Clary couldn't take it. His mouth found hers again as she moved her hands from his hair to the hem of the t-shirt he'd worn to the movies the night before. She tugged gently once before Jace lifted a hand behind his head and pulled it off, breaking contact as he did so.

His eyes scanned hers and took her in, her heaving chest, her swollen lips. Clary wondered, now more than ever what he was thinking, but she couldn't think to ask him. His golden eyes seemed to have darkened a shade looking at her and his hair was almost as wild as he was.

"Clary," he breathed, making her breath catch in her throat from just the way he said her name. It was so tender, so gentle, and so… different.

Clary, a harsh voice ripped through her brain, causing her to wince inadvertently. Her reaction didn't escape his notice as his gaze grew more concerned as he studied her. The hand that wasn't keeping her aloft moved to the back of her head to tilt her face forward so that their foreheads were touching. Even as she looked into his golden eyes, a pair of dark ones haunted her thoughts.

"Clary," he said again, urging her to focus on his words, and continued, "I don't know what you're running from, but I know it's not me. I am not your past. I'm not the scary thing that chases you. I am not the ghost that possesses your thoughts. Please, Clary."

"I know," she whispered, struggling to recover from the invasion of her thoughts, "I know. I'm sorry. I ruined this."

His fingers made a circular motion, applying light pressure to the back of her skull in a soothing maneuver and his voice took on a soft quality as he continued, "You didn't ruin this. This," he looked between them, "is what I want. You are what I want. We're more than just chemistry, Clary. I want you to let me in and I know we're getting there, but I'm running out of time here."

Clary flinched again, this time from the reminder about their deadline. At the change of topic, Clary unwound her legs from his waist and Jace lowered her to the floor, but the arm that wasn't gently massaging the back of her head wrapped around her waist and he didn't give her the chance to pull away.

"Jace," Clary pleaded, unsure of what she was asking for when she spoke.

"No Clary, please. Hear me out. I know I haven't exactly been sharing a lot either, but I'll own my shit and admit it's because this is new to me and I'm scared, but I trust you and this is what I want. I know I can't rush you, but I don't have a ton of time with you and I feel like I'm fighting to keep you here, but I don't know what I'm fighting. I need you to let me in," his voice grew more and more desperate as his rant continued.

He'd been handling her so carefully since she'd arrived and they'd both done an excellent job at pretending that their situation was a normal one, so his words shocked her. She hadn't been prepared for his honesty or his request for transparency, though she knew it'd come eventually. For some reason, she'd hoped it'd occur closer to when she could leave because she thought maybe it'd make it easier to leave.

"Jace, you don't understand. I can't stay here," she stated, forcing her voice to remain strong.

"Why not?" Jace asked, his voice rising. She could see that she was frustrating him and arousing his never-before-seen temper, but she knew she needed to hold firm in her stance.

"Because I can't. I don't expect you to understand," she answered, allowing her own temper to flare. Maybe anger would help her establish some distance. To accommodate the change in mood, he took a step back, but Clary was still backed against the wall and he was no more than a few inches away from her.

"Oh I understand the situation probably better than you do at this point, because I can admit to myself that I want you here. You, however, can't admit to yourself that you want to stay unless you're half-asleep."

Clary's jaw dropped in surprise. His words were ringing so true with her state of mind since even before she'd arrived in his town. She'd spent most of her life lying to herself about what she felt because acknowledging it made it real and then she'd, out of nowhere, be honest. She'd ignored her situation for quite some time before she decided she needed to leave and she'd ignored her feelings for Jace up until when she kissed him.

"Come on, Clary. It's me," Jace said, sounding more like he'd known her for 3 years rather than 3 days. "Don't bullshit me here. What did you think would happen after that kiss? I can't go backwards from here and I don't want to. It's like you said. I'm done pretending. I'm done pretending like this is casual for me. I'm done pretending like my eyes don't scan the room for you. I'm done pretending like that kiss was something I haven't been thinking about. I'm done pretending that watching you leave isn't going to kill me. I'm done, Clary. How about you? Are you done?"

His eyes were fiery and she didn't spare a thought to wondering if what he was saying was the truth. Her heart softened at his words and her mind slammed to a halt in her attempts to pacify this. Here Jace was standing in front of her, more vulnerable than he'd ever been and he was asking for the very decision she'd been struggling with since she'd met him.

Clary placed her hands on either side of her head and forced her eyes away from Jace as she struggled to reel in her thoughts.

"Jace, please, I don't know. I need," she paused, wracking her brain for the conclusion to that sentence.

Jace took a calming breath and Clary glanced up to reestablish eye contact. She saw him reigning himself in, placing his emotions in check. His eyes still blazed, but it was a controlled fire. Clary was surprised he'd been this unrestrained with her. She didn't imagine it was something that happened often.

"What do you need, Clary?"

She couldn't even begin to answer that question. She couldn't say time because she certainly hadn't given him much of that. Not space because she knew that asking for space was the equivalent of ending things between them.

When she didn't answer, Jace pressed, "What do you want?" His eyes were exasperated and she knew she was pushing him.

She removed her eyes from his and for the first time noticed his shirtless torso. Her cheeks heated at the memory of her passionate actions moments earlier. Her eyes travelled up the line of tattoos on his biceps and sides. She hadn't seen them since she caught him exiting the shower on her first morning with him and she had yet to learn the story. Surely there had to be one, as they weren't images of a dove or an anchor. In fact, she wasn't sure she'd seen them before.

Almost as if in a trance, she extended a hand and traced his tattoos with the tips of her fingers. She watched as her fingers left goosebumps in their wake and was pleased to see the reaction she elicited from him. In their journey, Clary's fingers traced a scar on his side. She had the sudden intense desire to ask him where he got it. She felt irritated that she couldn't just ask about it, or his tattoos, or his family, or ex-girlfriends, or his career. She'd built this wall between them to keep herself hidden and had done a good job at it.

Her heart wrenched with the feeling that she was missing something here. She knew what she wanted. She wanted to know his stories and for him to know hers, but she wasn't sure if either of them were prepared for what that would entail. She wanted to let his eyes erase the black ones that haunted her. She wanted his voice to be the only one that echoed through her brain. She wanted to trade in her ghost for a life.

She wanted Jace.

"Okay," the word escaped her lips before she had time to process the decision she was surprised to have made.

He too was obviously surprised, but she kept her eyes trained on his scar as he repeated, "Okay?"

She nodded slowly and stated, "This is what I want too," her eyes travelled up his torso to his eyes where he was regarding her with unbridled shock. He didn't say anything in response, so she continued, "I won't be any good at this Jace. I don't know what I'm doing. I have a ton of baggage and I can't promise you that I won't choose to leave at the end of the week. I also can't promise that you won't be shoving me out the door when you know everything, but I want to know you and I think I want you to know me too. I just need some help with this and patience, if possible."

As her rant came to an end, she watched a slow smile spread across his face. Before she could ask for a response, he move forward and she was in his arms once again, being kissed senseless.

Almost as abruptly as it started, the kiss was cut short as knock on the door.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I'm really sorry guys. Believe it or not, I am actually trying to update with a greater frequency, but as the story shifts into a new arc it's getting harder to write, obviously, and I want to do all of the characters justice. Also, I occasionally get sloppy as my stories begin to end, and I don't want to do that. Anyway, I hope you guys don't hate me too much and I hope you like this chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I can't believe I still have to write this, but I really don't own anything mentioned in this story. I'm your typical starving artist. Emphasis on the starving.**

Chapter 20

Clary's reaction was immediate and forceful.

She yanked her head back so quickly that she heard a soft thud from where her head hit the wall, though the pain didn't register in her mind. In fact, the only thing she could understand was something from which she'd spend most of her life running.

Fear. Pure, primal fear.

The comfort Jace's words had washed her in evaporated as a promise invaded her thoughts.

 _You will never be free of me, Clary._

"Clary, it's ok."

 _I'll haunt you until the day you die._

"Clary listen to me."

 _I'm your ghost._

"Clary!" Jace's voice entered the fog of poison that surrounded her. The sound seemed uniquely alien amongst the things of her nightmares. She felt his hands cup her face as she struggled to regain control. Her monster's voice sounded in her ears and it felt like he was in the room with her.

The knocking grew louder and more insistent, and Clary watched as irritation crossed Jace's face.

"One second," he called out, but his voice sounded far away.

"He's here," she felt herself whisper, rather than heard it. She felt herself begin to succumb to the panic and registered absentmindedly that she was very close to having a panic attack.

"He's _not_ here," Jace whispered insistently and Clary tried to focus on his voice. She searched for his golden eyes amongst the arm of black ones that wouldn't leave her alone.

She was slipping though and having a good deal of difficulty finding something onto which she could hold.

"Look, Clary, I'm going to see who it is, but no matter what, I will protect you."

She felt Jace pulling away and foggily tried to put together what was going on in the world outside of her head.

Jace was going. Towards the door. _He_ was on the other side of that door.

Jace was in danger.

Clary felt a sense of urgency overpower her panic and she knew she needed to keep Jace safe. Her head still rang with the echoes of promises, but she felt only her anger grow.

 _You will never be free of me, Clary_.

No.

 _I will haunt you until the day you die_.

I will _not_ let you haunt me or hurt Jace.

 _I am your ghost_.

Not anymore.

Her breathing slowed and she felt herself regain some control. Anger she could deal with it. She could control anger. And she'd be damned if she let him come into her life and wreck things.

She was done running from ghosts.

Feeling more solid now, she focused on Jace's movements. She watched as he swung open the door and began to scramble for a solution.

Her best course of action would be to stay out of sight.

She'd just moved herself so that she was standing in the doorway to Jace's room in time to watch whoever was on the other side of the door launch themselves at Jace and wrap their arms around his neck. Clary sprang from her hiding place and began to move to assist Jace until she saw Jace return the gesture.

"Geez Izzy. What time is it?" Jace asked, his voice slightly muffled by the stranger's long, gorgeous black hair.

Though Jace was clearly surprised to see the tall, gorgeous woman he'd referred to as "Izzy", it was clear that the surprise was not an unpleasant one. His tone was, while irritated, pleased in nature.

After what felt like forever, the girl pulled back with a huge smile plastered on her familiar face. Clary's eyes were trained on her as she tried to place why she felt like she's seen this particularly lovely face before today.

Her anger shifted into a feeling with which she was not familiar as she watched Jace's face morph from annoyance to happiness.

"Too early, obviously. I tried to stop by the café but it wasn't even open yet, but luckily for me I know someone in town who's a glutton for punishment and enjoys being conscious before the roosters are," she answered jovially, her happiness practically spilling over and drowning Clary.

Clary was acutely aware of the fact that she'd intruded upon this man's life, but she'd never felt like an intruder before watching the scene before her.

"Firstly, there are no roosters. This is a small town, not a farming community, prima donna. Secondly, were you worried that the phone ringing would bother me or is there another fantastic reason as to why you couldn't have called?"

She heard the girl scoff at him and wave away his question before stepping past him into the house. She scanned the room quickly, seemingly not noticing Clary in assessment. She glanced over her shoulder at him and ordered, "Shut the door, psycho. It's freezing. Why are you half-naked in this weather anyway?" It was only as her eyes were drifting away from his figure that she noticed Clary.

Her reaction was immediate and comical. Her gorgeous brown eyes grew almost impossibly wide and her pretty jaw dropped to the floor. Their eyes were locked and they both seemed frozen in the moment as Izzy eyed Clary in shock and Clary eyed Izzy with suspicion.

At the sound of the door closing, the stranger jumped slightly and blinked, effectively ending the interaction. When she'd managed to overcome her shock, a smile began to overtake her face as her eyes flitted between Jace and Clary.

"Oh," she stated simply, her features amused, "I see now why you might've preferred a phone call, although I get the distinct feeling that I would've been sent straight to voicemail."

Clary felt her cheeks redden and her confusion rise at the innuendo.

"You're not upset?" Clary asked, dumbfounded that this girl, with whom Jace was very obviously involved, was not at all upset by the possibility of Jace cheating on her.

She didn't have to glance at Jace to know that her question perplexed him. She could almost feel his confusion. The girl cocked her head to the side and placed her hands on her hips as she continued to study Clary. Her eyes shifted to her feet where Simon was rubbing his face against her tall, black boots affectionately. That in and of itself was odd, as Simon was notorious for not trusting anyone, but he certainly seemed to like Izzy.

"I mean I'm upset I had to hear that my very own brother has found himself a girlfriend from our mom, rather than from the man himself, but otherwise no. Why would I be?"

This time it was Clary's turn to drop her jaw and stare at Izzy in shock. Jace had a sister? She heard Jace clear his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the altercation and Clary was able to peel her eyes away from Izzy to shoot him an accusing look.

"You have a sister?" Clary asked, her mind still reeling with all of the new information with which she was being barraged.

Jace at least had the good sense to look chagrined at the situation and he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

"He didn't tell you about me," Izzy stated, her tone sounding not-so-surprised.

"Well we haven't exactly had the most open relationship until about five minutes ago and it certainly never came up," Jace protested, his gaze focused on Clary.

 _Touché_. She had to give him that one. She hadn't exactly opened up to him either and, in comparison to what she'd been hiding from him, this seemed more like an honest omission. Despite that, Clary couldn't help but feel embarrassed by how little she really did know about this man.

She felt her face fall and clearly Jace had seen the change in her reaction, as he immediately stated, "But things are different now, Clary."

His eyes held a sincerity that Clary had difficulty rejecting, despite her skeptical nature. She felt herself soften towards him and a small smile bloomed on her face, which he wasted no time in mirroring.

They must've been maintaining that eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time, because before she knew it, Izzy was clearing her throat rather loudly and interjecting, "Not that this isn't cute and promising and all, but…" She trailed off and motioned for the two of them to carry on as if she was in the room.

Jace smiled wanly at Clary once more before introducing, "Clary, this is my sister Isabelle, but I call her Izzy. Izzy, this is-"

Isabelle had already closed the distance between the two and engulfed Clary in a hug before Jace finished. She effectively silenced him with an enthusiastic, "It's so nice to meet you, Clary! My mom has told me so much about you and I just think you are exactly what Jace needs!"

Over Isabelle's shoulder, Clary cocked an eyebrow at a noticeably irritated Jace and replied, "It's nice to meet you too, Isabelle."

She waved a hand at Clary as she pulled away and corrected her conspiratorially, "Call me Izzy. All of my friends do and I think you and I are going to become fast friends."

"Well, isn't that sweet," Jace's voice called sarcastically from behind Isabelle, eliciting an eye roll from his sister. "Look, Iz, I'm really happy to see you, but Clary and I have to get ready for work soon and I'm sure you have something you'd rather be doing."

Isabelle rolled her eyes again at him and offered Clary a "see-what-I-deal-with" look before retorting, "I get it. You guys only have so much time to make out before work. Just stop by the café later, okay? Alec will wanna see you too."

Jace's eyes lit up at the sound of Alec's name. Like a child at Christmas, he exclaimed, "Alec's in town?"

Isabelle smiled lightly at his enthusiasm and answered, "Yes. We're staying for a couple days and we'd like to see you while we're here, so drop by, okay?"

Jace's enthusiasm softened into a soft glow of happiness that almost had Clary smiling at this Alec's arrival, even though she was certain Jace had never mentioned him.

Isabelle hugged Jace once more before heading towards the door. As she was shutting it behind her, she smiled and winked at Clary, stating finally, "And we both want to get to know the girl that's had you so enamored lately."

When the door slammed shut, Clary chanced another glance at Jace to find him still smiling softly, but his eyes were focused on her.

"Alec is my and Isabelle's brother. He's always been my best friend," Jace explained, moving across the room towards her complacently. Though she was certain his movements would end with him before her, their bodies only inches apart, he didn't seem to be moving with purpose. Instead, he seemed to almost be drifting towards her.

When Clary didn't respond, Jace added, "I was adopted by Maryse and Robert, Maryse's ex-husband, when I was ten. Alec and Isabelle are two of their biological kids."

Clary noticed the way he'd phrased his statement and clarified, "Two of them? Are there more?"

His smile faltered as did his footsteps, though he was already only a foot away from her. His eyes became clouded with an emotion Clary could only interpret as pain as he answered, "One. The youngest. Max."

His voice was just above a whisper with that last word and Clary didn't need to ask to know that Max was either no longer with them or, at least, might as well be. She knew he needed comfort, but no part of Clary's life had ever prepared her to give it. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and placed it gently on the side of his face so that it laid across his cheek.

"Jace?" She wasn't sure what she was asking. Was he ok? Did he need to talk? What happened? She had no idea, but he seemed to.

He shook his head as if he could physically dispel the thoughts that held him down and gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I suppose there's a lot we don't about each other, but hopefully that's going to change now, right?" he asked, reaching a hand out to the back of her head. He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her head towards him lightly, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. His lips lingered against her skin and she felt her skin break out in goosebumps despite the heavy atmosphere. Clearly, her body didn't care that Jace was suffering.

Slowly he pulled away enough to place his forehead against hers. Looking deeply into her eyes, he concluded, "At least we have something to look forward to, right? This should be fun."

His voice was light as were his lips when he placed a soft kiss on hers. After another moment, he pulled away and slipped into the bathroom, leaving Clary behind with a plethora of thoughts swimming through her head to decipher.

Jace's tragedy drove home the point that she was not the only one who stood to be hurt in this situation, as did the pure anxiety that almost overpowered her at the prospect of a stranger at the door. Clary almost allowed herself to shut down. Only the thought that she needed to protect Jace was able to stop her descent and that in and of itself was alarming.

She'd been pulled into Jace's world more intensely than she'd planned and she doubted she'd be able to just leave him now, especially now that she knew that Jace was hurting too. She'd been told all along that this relationship was an oddity for Jace and that it was more meaningful than she could comprehend, but she hadn't allowed herself to believe it. Isabelle's final words along with this new knowledge of Jace's past firmly cemented the idea that by leaving she'd very deeply hurt him.

But she needed to protect him. She knew that, though they were safe now, it was only a matter of time before it was her ghost on the other side of that door, so when it was, she needed to be sharp and prepared to protect Jace, no matter what it cost her. She wasn't just fighting for herself anymore. She was fighting for Jace.

 _Fun_. She almost laughed at his prediction. She knew nothing about this process would be _fun_.

He'd figure that out too.

After all, there was still a lot he didn't know about her.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/n: Sorry for the wait on this. I've been preoccupied. I'm pumped for this chapter and the direction this story is going in! I've got a pretty clear vision of where this is going and I'm excited to write it! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think! I'm hella down for constructive criticism and suggestions!**

 **Disclaimer: I doubt the owner of any of the things mentioned in this chapter would spend their time writing fanfic, but either way, I'm not that owner.**

Chapter 21

Jace had never considered the ability of a girl to get along with his family to be a must-have in a relationship, but something about watching Isabelle throw her head back laughing at something Clary must've said was beginning to convince him otherwise.

Though he could sense that Clary was still uncomfortable with the steps they'd made in their relationship, he was pretty confident that she was feeling better about it. And it's not like her being uncomfortable was in any way unfair. In the span of less than an hour, their relationship developed more than it had since he'd met her.

She was scared and he knew that, not so much of learning more about him or shifting the nature of their relationship so that it was more physical. In fact, after the initial shock of learning just how little she did know about him in the form of Isabelle, she seemed to be really excited to have him share himself with her. On the way to the diner, she'd peppered him with questions about Isabelle, Alec, and Robert. She'd danced around the topic of Max, evidently sensing that it was a rather serious one for him, and she hadn't asked about Maryse because she'd been able to see that first hand. She'd begun to turn the questions towards his birth parents before they'd arrived at the café, which was a bit of a welcome relief.

Though he was relatively pleased to be sharing these things with her and practically overjoyed that she was eager to learn about him, the heavier topics, such as Max and the Waylands, he'd prefer to save for another time. In the same vein, she had yet to really start opening up with him about her past, though she was open in other ways, like her enthusiasm for his stories and her feelings for him.

Physical contact was also something she was really warming up to, though their first major foray into that part of their relationship was anything but warm. Their kiss was explosive. Ever since he'd met her, there had been this tension between them. It was electric from the start and as they became more comfortable around each other, hence making contact more frequent albeit not intense, and his feelings for her as a person grew he just gradually began to feel like he'd combust. So when they kissed, it seemed almost natural for him to feel like he was on fire. It certainly was a perfect burn though. The kiss was everything he'd wanted and more because it came attached with a promise that she'd stay in town until they could figure this out.

And it alleviated the tension and pushed them firmly passed the point of no return. Jace worried that this would mean she'd pull back from him and that he'd need to reassure her with some frequency at first, but that didn't seem to be the case. On the walk over, she'd reached over and grabbed his hand. The action was hesitant and her eyes were uncertain, but he'd been quick to give her hand a small squeeze, thus reassuring her and bringing a bubbly smile to her face. So two of the main changes in their relationship were continuing to develop in a pretty positive direction.

But he could tell the prospect of telling him about her past terrified her. It certainly didn't surprise him that she felt this way. She tensed at even vague mentions of her life before Alicante and she'd been on the verge of a panic attack when Isabelle knocked on the door earlier. The strong reaction she'd had to the sound of Isabelle's knock was a bit of a surprise to him because up until that point he'd assumed she was running from a shitty boyfriend or controlling parents, but he couldn't imagine that the mere possibility of a stranger at the door would elicit such panic if that were the case. Surely she wasn't concerned with his ability to handle one jealous ex and she was an adult, so what could her parents really do to her if they found her?

He was admittedly worried that it was a simple case of him not liking what she told him. She'd blatantly expressed her concerns about the type of person she was. He remembered their conversation about her artwork vividly and, while he'd reassured her and meant every word of it, he could tell she didn't believe that she was entirely good. For a second, he was concerned about what she'd have to say, but then he heard her laugh, watched as she bit down on her lower lip to quell the response, felt his heart constrict at the scene and the fear dissipated.

There was nothing Clary could tell him that would scare him away, of this he was sure.

"Are you going to just stare at her all day or are you actually going to introduce me?"

Jace's muddled thoughts disappeared, but the happiness persisted. He shot his brother and best friend an irritated look and quipped, "Give me a second. I'm thinking. Not sure if I want her to meet you. She might think your dorkiness is contagious, Alec."

Alec, to his credit, scoffed and slapped Jace on the arm, his blue eyes trained on the redhead behind the counter impatiently. Jace knew Alec was using every ounce of his restraint to keep himself from asking about her and Jace was abusing that kindness by having Alec help him finish up painting the Blackthorn residence and forcing the conversation so that it was focused on his escapades in New York with Isabelle and his boyfriend, Magnus. He was getting tired of pretending like the shift in Jace's attitude wasn't driving him mad with curiosity and Jace knew he was pushing it.

With a resolved sigh, Jace beckoned, "Fine. Come on," and moved towards the still laughing girls.

Clary noticed the two boys coming before Isabelle did and her gaze rested on him for only a moment before it focused on Alec. He wondered what she was thinking as she took him in, knowing that he was perhaps the person he felt closest to in the world. He wondered what she saw and what that meant for how she saw him.

This was all new territory for Jace. He'd never had a serious girlfriend and he'd never met any girl for whom he felt as strongly as he did for Clary and this all scared the shit out of him.

But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't also _really_ excited.

"Clary," he began, resisting a smile when her eyes met his, "This is my brother Alec."

Izzy swiveled in her seat to face her two brothers and a wide smile crept over her lips at the sight of them. Alec extended his hand to Clary and, in a small tone, stated, "Hey. It's nice to meet you."

His smile, like his tone, was small and gentle, but Jace could see that his eyes were excited.

Clary, too, offered a small smile, an indication that she was nervous, as, in Jace's experience, Clary's joy was either full-blown or non-existent. She very rarely did things by halves.

She accepted his hand after a moment's hesitation and shook it quickly, releasing him from the embrace quickly. Jace quirked an eyebrow at her odd behavior, which a twitch in her smile indicated that she caught but ignored.

"It's _really_ nice to meet you too, Alec. Jace has told me so much about you," she finally stated, her enthusiasm sounding a bit stiff.

"I thought you didn't know Jace had any siblings?" Isabelle interrupted, her eyes innocent as she watched Clary flinch slightly.

Alec, ever the wallflower, merely observed the exchange with an interested expression and Jace knew he was studying everything she did intensely. That knowledge made him slightly nervous. He wanted Alec to like Clary, though he knew that even if he didn't it would do little to deter Jace from liking her.

And with that thought Clary's behavior made sense to him. Clary clearly wanted Alec to like her too. The thought brought a winning grin to Jace's face and inspired him to jump to Clary's defense with a quick, "Well she did quiz me about the two of you pretty intensely after you bombarded us this morning, so I actually have talked her ear off about the two of you."

He didn't miss Clary's grateful smile or Alec's curious glance at his words.

"Well he hasn't said a word about you," Alec added, leaning slightly closer to Clary to whisper conspiratorially, "That's how I know it's serious."

Isabelle snorted loudly at his words and added, "It's true. He never talks about anything that matters."

Jace shot both of his siblings a glare that he didn't really mean. Sure, they were embarrassing him, but, considering how unusual every aspect of their relationship had been thus far, it felt nice to experience something as normal as being embarrassed by his siblings. This felt right.

Clary blushed lightly and retorted, "Well I imagine that I'm the only one he's taken to his cabin in the woods and _not_ sacrificed to some weird god, so I'd say it's pretty serious."

Isabelle snorted again, such an unattractive sound coming from such an attractive girl, and even Alec cracked a wider smile at her joke.

"That's only because the gods deemed you an unworthy offering, so don't go and let your ego inflate over there, firecracker," Jace quipped, catching Maryse watching them interact from the corner of his eye.

"I wouldn't dare," she replied, smiling wryly and clutching a hand to her heart. "There wouldn't be enough room for an ego inflation from me with your ego running rampant."

Alec chuckled quietly beside Jace, a rare sound from his reticent friend and Isabelle was smiling widely at all of them. He knew they'd been won over by Clary, but, then, he'd never doubted they would be. Clary seemed to fit seamlessly into every other aspect of his life, so why should his family be any different?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Alright, talk to me."

Alec's request was unsurprising, as Jace knew it was only a matter of time before he began asking questions.

He'd waited for the dinner rush, thankfully, as Clary leapt up to start serving and Isabelle slipped into Maryse's room upstairs to return emails with the promise that she'd "grill" him when she returned.

"What do you think of her?" Jace asked, in part to stall for time while he thought of what to say.

Alec rolled his eyes and replied, "I'll know what to think of her when you stop stalling. Now tell me what's going on here."

With a sigh, Jace had to acknowledge that he'd have to come clean about all of this. He'd ended up basically telling Maryse that the story they'd fed her was a lie and he didn't think he'd be able to lie to his best friend.

"We met four days ago by the bus stop. She'd bought a ticket for the midnight bus, but it never came so she was stranded. I took her home with me and let her stay the night. The next day, we figured out that the bus was shut down until the end of the week, so I got her a job and she and her awful cat have been staying with me ever since."

Alec waited a moment before replying to Jace's admission with, "So you two aren't together?"

"Well," Jace began, choosing his words very carefully, "We weren't really together until yesterday when she kissed me, but there has always been something going on between us."

Again, Alec paused, studying Jace intensely before returning, "You look like you're doing a lot better."

It was a simple statement, but Jace knew it was loaded with months and months of concern for his well-being.

He wanted to roll his eyes at his brother and shrug the statement off, but he knew the validity of it. He'd always been closed off to an extent, a side effect of being raised by the Waylands and not the Lightwoods. This exhibited itself in relatively careless behavior in high school and his brief college career. He'd been a bit of a slut, though he was ashamed to admit it, and garnered very few real friends, but he'd always been close with his family and he'd enjoyed the relatively superficial life he'd developed for himself.

But when Max died all of that changed for him.

His little brother had always been a vestige of purity in a world that Jace had been taught to think of as corrupt and, when he died, Jace felt a part of himself die as well.

The death of Max affected everyone differently. Isabelle felt incredibly guilty and developed issues with their parents, fighting with them and blaming them to deflect some of the guilt she'd claimed for herself. After some time and support, she'd managed to mostly recover and move on with her life.

Alec became even more quiet for a while and eventually decided to come out to the family as gay, a reveal that took no one by surprise. He too had been able to move on with time.

Their parents had divorced. Robert worked himself to death to separate himself from it all, while Maryse had taken to focusing on them to avoid it. She hadn't yet recovered, but she was able to find other things to divert her focus.

Jace, on the other hand, had almost completely shut off.

He left college, with no intentions of returning, and moved back home to be closer to the family, but as his siblings and father left and picked up the remnants of their lives, he stayed put, determined to live as little of his as possible. He worked, visited his mother, and returned home. He rarely made time for friends and his personal life was nonexistent.

He'd essentially decided that his life wasn't worth living and he wasn't even entirely sure why he couldn't recover.

And then he'd met Clary.

The change was obvious. He was laughing and smiling and going dancing and flirting. There was something about her that ignited him and brought him back to the land of the living.

There was something so pure about her, even if she didn't see it.

So Alec's statement and everyone's concern with Clary's arrival and existence in his life was without a doubt warranted.

With a meaningful glance towards the redhead glibly waiting tables, unaware of the impact she'd had on his life, Jace replied, "Yeah. I'm doing better."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I know it's been awhile. I'm gonna stop being fake and promising I'll be better. I'll try, but I can't tell because sometimes chapters are hard to write and I sometimes have stuff going on, so the inspiration doesn't flow as easily. I'd rather not half-ass it and maybe make you wait a little longer. I hope this chapter is worth the wait! Let me know how I can improve and stuff!**

Chapter 22

It didn't end up being long before Clary learned about Max's fate.

After a nerve-wracking meeting with Jace's brother and best friend Alec that turned out to be less difficult than she imagined, Clary and Isabelle, free of the presence of the boys, left Maryse's café with her permission and were roaming the streets of Alicante. Clary was wary of leaving the café, but Maryse waved off any concerns by stating, "I owe you 4 days of breaks that you haven't been taking, so just make it back by the dinner rush and you're fine."

So with a smug, "See!" from Izzy, they were off, popping into stores and swinging by Isabelle's "high school hangouts".

From her time with the gorgeous sister, Clary became quite clear that Isabelle was remarkable. She was confident and funny and brave and honest. For the second time in her life, Clary looked at a person and felt like she'd found a friend.

So she fought like hell to keep herself from thinking about the last time she'd had a friend.

Curly brown hair and glasses flashed through her mind before she could think to block them.

Izzy, thankfully, misinterpreted Clary's reactionary flinch as a judgment of her story and amended, "I know, I know. You don't have to say it. Meliorn is definitely into that blonde girl, but what if I'm wrong, you know? I don't want to throw away a good thing."

Clary tried to refocus her thoughts on the words coming from her new friend's mouth, grateful that she'd neither offended Isabelle nor prompted more questions from her.

"I don't get it, Izzy. You're beautiful and funny and smart and a million other wonderful things, I'm sure," Clary began, thoroughly in unknown territory with this advice. "You don't need some guy and you deserve better than one you don't trust."

Isabelle nodded thoughtfully and gnawed on her lower lip as she considered Clary's word. After a moment, she smiled lightly and asked, "I guess you never have to worry about this with Jace." Clary's cheeks heated up at the switch in gears and Isabelle added, "I can tell by the way he looks at you."

Clary couldn't help the smile that bloomed across her face. All day she'd been alternating uncontrollably between smiling like a goofball and nearly hyperventilating, so she was moderately relieved that it was the former afflicting her now. This was all very new to her.

It felt _awesome_.

And _terrifying._

Hence the confusing reactions she was experiencing.

"It's," she paused, searching for the right word to express what she needed to Isabelle to understand about her and Jace, "New."

It was inadequate of course. It only explained her nervousness, but none of the butterflies. It didn't explain how she felt like she'd always known him or why this was so important to both of them. New, in the face of all she felt for Jace, was empty and meaningless.

"Whatever that means," Isabelle laughed, though apparently no one told her eyes that she was amused. They were contemplative at best, but Clary felt the word troubled was more appropriate.

She wasn't sure what possessed her to ask, as she tended to let other people's secrets and thoughts remain private, but she found the words, "What are you think about?" leave her lips anyway.

Clary expected Isabelle to tense and brush her question off, simply because that was what she would've done, so she was surprised when the girl's shoulders slumped forward and she turned her eyes, wide and vulnerable, towards Clary's. After a sigh which expressed a grief with which Clary _was_ familiar, Isabelle asked, "Has Jace told you about Max?"

Clary felt her heart constrict at the question and she knew without a doubt that she was about to be told what really happened to Max. She also knew that she could stop Izzy from telling her this. Stop her from making her connection with Jace concrete. If she saw Jace's pain, it'd make it that much more impossible to consider leaving, and it was already pretty difficult to imagine doing.

"Only that he's," she paused, searching for the right word.

"Dead," she interrupted, her eyes sincere, "It's okay. You can say the word. I've come to terms with it, more or less."

Clary nodded and added, "I can tell that it's tough for him to talk about."

Isabelle's eyes focused to a spot away from Clary, like Jace's sometimes did when he was recalling something painful and her mouth formed an empty smile.

"Bit of an understatement."

Clary felt as if she was facing a choice, and hesitated only momentarily before making her choice.

"What happened?"

Again, she was waiting for Isabelle to shut herself out, but she'd learned enough about the girl beside her to not be surprised when instead she began, "He was in a car accident. Hit by a drunk driver."

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, finding the words wholly inadequate.

"We all took it pretty badly. My parents split up because of it. Alec barely spoke to anyone for months. I felt-" her voice broke and she sucked in a breath. Clary's hand reached out to grasp hers before she registered doing so.

After taking a moment to collect herself, Isabelle continued, "I felt guilty and responsible because I wasn't in the car with him," her eyes moved to Clary's and a desperate laugh escaped her lips, "It's silly. I realize that now. It took me a long time and a good deal of therapy, but I know now that being there wouldn't have saved him. But we all dealt with it in our own way, I suppose."

Before she could think better of it, she prompted, "And Jace?"

Isabelle's eyes focused again at that spot away from her and she hesitated for a beat longer than Clary expected. Evidently, she was debating on whether or not to tell Clary.

"Jace never quite dealt with it. He dropped out of school and moved home. He never talked about it, but he was just so clearly unhappy. We all started to get better and move on, but he never did. I don't think he knew how to cope, so he just stopped living his life. He got better at hiding it, but we could all tell. He blamed himself for what happened, even though none of us did."

"Why would he blame himself?" Clary asked, worried that Isabelle would be able to hear her heart pounding.

The silence that followed was just long enough to make Clary regret asking. The Jace that Isabelle was describing was only a shade of the man she'd come to know. She'd sensed a closed-off quality about him when they'd met and he certainly was a far-cry from the Jace who'd walked her to the café, answering her questions and teasing her.

Words of dismissal were on the tip of Clary's tongue when Isabelle finally spoke the words that broke Clary's heart.

"Jace was driving the car when they were hit."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Clary was worried she'd be uncomfortable when she saw Jace next. Her mind was muddled throughout the dinner shift with thoughts of what she'd say when she saw him, how she'd apologize for letting Isabelle tell him.

All of that flew out the window when he strolled into the diner casually and grinned at her widely.

With a smile of her own, she knew nothing between them had changed. He wouldn't be mad if he knew and she wouldn't treat him differently now that she knew.

There was an ease that accompanied getting their feelings out there that surprised and pleased her.

He hadn't gotten to do more than reach for her hand before Izzy exclaimed, "Let's go to that club we used to go to. What was it called? Pandemic?"

Jace smirked, his eyes on hers as a vision of the two of them dancing played in her mind, and corrected her, "Pandemonium."

She snapped her fingers and exclaimed, "That's right. Much better name. Let's go. It'll be fun. We can dance. Maybe I can get some handsome stranger to buy me drinks?"

"You're not 21, Iz," Alec argued, though his defeated tone indicated how strong he felt this argument was.

"A year isn't going to make a difference in my being an adult. I mean, honestly, I can serve my country but I can't get my drink on? Ridiculous," she scoffed, clearly unperturbed by the prospect of the law standing in her way of a good time.

"I'm up for dancing. I've had some good experiences there," Jace added, his eyes dancing with mischief. God, he was thinking of it too. The mere prospect of that brought a blush to her cheeks and a smirk to his face. Jace would undoubtedly be the death of her.

It was this remark that landed Clary wedged into a booth with a _very_ intoxicated Isabelle while Jace and Alec grabbed them waters.

It'd been a fun time. She and Isabelle had danced until Izzy grabbed herself a handsome stranger and Jace caught her by the wrist. He'd spun her to face him, leaving her slightly dizzy as she looked up at him in the dark room, his breath fanning across her face. Teasingly, he leaned close and whispered, "I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever get a moment alone with you again."

When he heard her sharp intake of breath, he chuckled lightly and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek that did nothing to help with the electricity racing through her body at the implication. Bravely, she moved her hand to the back of his head as he pulled away and moved his face to hers, kissing him gently.

She was exhilarated by the gesture when he returned the kiss enthusiastically, snaking a hand around her waist and yanking her towards him so that their bodies were flush.

The kiss was tame and far softer than any of their others had been, but the very idea that she'd been able to kiss him without fear or anxiety kept her elated as they danced throughout the night. They'd only separated when Isabelle came stumbling over to them, an arm draped over Alec's apologetic shoulder, giggling the entire way.

Jace and Alec had moved her to a booth and Clary slid in after her to wait for the pair to return. Isabelle rested her head on her arms, his face turned to Clary in the appearance of analyzing her. Izzy smiled widely at her, a facial Clary could only return, and began, "I really like you, Clary. I feel like you're already my friend. I can see why Jace _adores_ you."

Clary's smile was accompanied by a slight blush made invisible by the darkness of the club and she replied, "I really like you too, Izzy. I feel the same way."

"About me or Jace?" she asked loudly, laughing raucously at her own question before devolving into hiccups. Before Clary could reply, Isabelle continued, "Clary, you are _soooooo_ good for him."

"He's good for me, too," Clary answered, feeling like she'd hear whatever drunk Izzy wanted to tell her, regardless of whatever her response was.

"No, you don't know what he was like before. It was like being related to a corpse. You show up and all of a sudden, he's like a real person. Breathing and talking and smiling. It's amazing. I don't know how you did it, but you kept me from losing two brothers instead of one."

The smile that lit up Clary's face was all too genuine as Izzy's words hit her. She'd never in her life been good for anyone. She hadn't been good for her family or Luke or Simon, so she'd written herself off already as poison.

It'd never occurred to her that she even _could_ be good for someone.

Curly brown hair and glasses flashed through her brain for the second time that day and she could see Simon's face clearly in her mind. How they met. How he'd held her during the worst days of her life. How he'd always been there for her.

How she'd begged him to never speak to her again.

She was surprised to find herself blinking back tears. She hadn't cried since she'd said goodbye and she'd thought about that time often.

"Jace is amazing," Clary murmured, dumbly, only because Isabelle kept staring at her. The words were inadequate, as almost anything she could say about Jace would be.

Izzy smiled contentedly and leaned her head against Clary's shoulder as the boys returned. Alec rolled his eyes good-naturedly at his sister and slid into the booth. Jace's smile was light as he took in his sister, but it dropped slightly when he saw Clary's expression. His brow furrowed in concern and she could hear his unasked question clearly.

She schooled her features to smile at him reassuringly, but she knew her doubt was still evident. Clary wished she could reassure him that it wasn't him whom she doubted.

Staring at his golden eyes and hair, all she could see was brown curls and glasses and a boy who loved her enough to fight off the evil.

Slowly, the vision of Simon faded and all she could see was Jace. Gold and bright and safe.

A boy who could love her enough to free her from the evil.

Maybe, just maybe, if she let him, he could be good for her too.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** **I got a ton of stellar reviews on the last chapter, for which I'm stoked! I'm so glad you guys like this and the direction its going! I'm similarly excited about it! Let me know what you think of this latest chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: If anything, I own even less than I did before by writing this.**

Chapter 23

He'd waited almost a full day before asking her about her past.

They'd returned from the club thoroughly exhausted and promptly both went to bed. The next day, Jace had been careful with her, which was Clary's first indication that he'd soon bring up an uncomfortable topic.

She was quite sure that it'd put him at ease if she were just to address the topic, but she couldn't bring herself to do that. The very idea of telling him about her past emptied her lungs and ideas on how to slip out of town covertly flittered through her head all day.

Simon seemed to sense her tension, as he recommitted to his service as her bodyguard, something he'd been slacking on since they'd arrived in town and Jace had somehow won his trust. He only separated from her when they arrived at the diner, though even then he perched himself on a bench outside and kept an eye on her from the window. Clary would've been further endeared to the pet had her mind been less ill at ease.

To Jace's credit, he genuinely tried to act as if nothing was wrong, like his mind wasn't racing as well, but Clary had somehow come to know him too well to be fooled by fake smiles. She also sensed that his careful manner and renewed curiosity sprang, in part, due to her behavior the night before, but she wasn't sure how to explain that to him since she certainly didn't understand it either.

All she did know was that images of a curly haired boy were haunting her.

She tried not to think of her cat's namesake often, though she certainly did regardless of whether or not she tried, but running on autopilot for so long had kept her from really feeling anything in regard to the people she'd left behind. She could simulate regret if she forced herself to imagine how differently her life would be had she not lost so many people, but that was a stretch and, if she was being honest, disingenuous.

It wasn't a lack of love for those people that stifled her reactions, only a lack of the freedom and leisure one requires to indulge those feelings. Clary had never been in a position for wallowing. The most she'd allowed herself was the day her mother had died, but she hadn't known how deeply in danger she was then, so she hadn't been prepared to shut off those feelings.

And she'd had Simon to turn to.

She remembered that period, though it had been one of the toughest she'd ever been through, fondly, because things had been simpler then. She'd been younger and safer and more loved than she would be afterwards.

And, of course, she'd had Simon.

She'd met Simon in the first grade, before her father pulled her out of the public schooling system and supplied her with tutors. Clary had defended Simon on the playground one day and had continued to do so for years afterwards. She defended him from the bad and he reminded her of the good.

Though she'd had no idea of what the family business entailed until her sophomore year of high school, she was clear on the fact that her family was not made up of good people.

Her father was severe, to say the least, and he had high expectations for his children, which resulted in the routine beating of Clary and her brother until Clary's mother threatened to leave him the first time. The beatings were only harsh if Clary rebelled against her father, though they were vicious on her brother every time, but the bruises and blood he'd left behind stained her soul all the same.

It became a clear thought in Clary's mind that if her father was evil, which he was, and if she endured enough evil things, which she did, then she too could become evil, so she glommed heavily onto what little good there was in her life – namely her mother, Luke, her brother, and Simon.

Simon, as she viewed it, was the only person in her life untouched by poison and she loved him all the more for it. His jokes, lame t-shirts, and horrible band names acted as a deterrent to the sorrow that hung around the edges of her mind at all times.

He was always there for her and, as times got tough, he became stronger for her. He'd held her when her mother died and began to more or less hold her together as her life descended more and more into madness.

The day she had to say good bye to him was the day she knew she'd have to leave.

So, even now Simon was helping her.

She supposed that she was probably remembering Simon because he was the last person she'd really let in and he was the first outsider with which she did so. Though he and Jace were as different as night and day, they filled similar roles in Clary's life, albeit Simon was never a romantic interest.

With these memories running through her head, Clary couldn't escape the memory of how that situation had worked out. She'd narrowly avoided getting her friend killed and had lost him in the process.

She was beginning to feel like her only choices were losing her loved ones or getting them murdered.

And she'd all but promised Jace that she wasn't going anywhere, which left her a lot of anxiety to shuffle through.

On top of the imminent threat of getting Jace killed simply for knowing her was the anxiety associated with the fact that this would be her first type of relationship like this.

She'd never had a boyfriend and Jace had been only the second boy she'd kissed. The first time she'd been kissed still occasionally gave her nightmares, so that amount of experience didn't exactly set a great precedence.

Similarly, though she'd been closer with Simon than anyone else in her life, she'd never shared any of what she went through with him. Even as a child she knew her family situation was bad and telling people about it would result in her being removed from that situation, although at the time she thought that'd be a bad thing.

Despite this, Clary had to admit that, mingled with her anxiety and terror, was a good deal of curiosity at how he'd approach the situation. The walk to the café had been filled by what could only be described as anxious chatter as he talked entirely too much and she didn't at all. He told her a story about Maryse's reaction at catching him drinking in high school and Clary listened attentively, but she'd be lying if she claimed to not be distracted. He'd dropped her off at the door with a quick peck on the lips before hurrying away from her. A few feet away from her still frozen watching him leave at the door, he froze and walked back to her, pulling her in for a kiss that she felt all the way down to her toes.

After he pulled away, he kept his eyes shut for a moment, like he was attempting to extend the moment. When he finally did open them, he smiled at her encouragingly and stated, "You and I are good. I can make this work. We can make this work."

She was too shocked to nod, but apparently he didn't need the reassurance. He looked significantly more confident as he laid his lips gently to her forehead once more and turned to leave.

Clary entered the diner a moment later to the very shocked face of Maryse and the mildly amused face of Isabelle.

"Well that's new," Maryse muttered, bringing color to Clary's cheeks as she moved behind the counter between the two girls.

As she set to work wiping down a counter and ignoring the looks from Jace's family members, Clary couldn't help but feel just a tiny bit of hope mixed in with her familiar anxiety.

 _New indeed_ , she mused.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was only when they returned back to his house after the day had ended that Jace finally broke.

He'd given her enough time to seat herself comfortably at his counter and eat the eggs he prepared for her, before beginning, "I don't want to push you."

She'd popped the last bit of egg into her mouth as he finished the statement and swallowed it with an audible gulp, bringing an amused smile to his lips.

Slowly, carefully, she set her fork down, pushed her plate slightly away from her, and folded her hands in front of her to wait for him to continue.

"But," he obliged, "I know that if I didn't push you, we'd never talk about your past and I think we do to move forward with this."

When she didn't respond, he motioned between them with his hand as he plopped in the chair across from her. After another beat of silence he groaned, "Please, Clary, throw me a bone, here. I don't need everything at once. I know it won't be that easy, but I need you to try. Please."

In typical situations where her options were fight or flight, she was partial to her flight skills. So it took her a moment to steel her mind in preparation for one of the first 'fight' responses she'd ever had.

 _Damn him and that genuine, adorable look in his eyes. Damn him for giving me something to fight for_ , she cursed, mentally.

Aloud, she offered, "I'm not sure how to do this."

He nodded slowly once and amended, "Well there are no rules. I'll take whatever you're willing to give."

She shut her eyes, attempting to slow her racing heart, and opened them again only when she felt herself get more control over herself.

 _Alright, Morgenstern, start small. You've gotta conquer the world country by country. Not all at once._

Simon's voice echoed through her mind and, as if they were connected, her cat, which had been curled up asleep at her feet while she ate, nudged her leg with his nose.

 _Simon_.

As his words flooded her mind, so did comfort. She set her shoulders back indignantly.

Her voice held none of the strength of her posture when she finally started, "I named my cat after the only friend I've ever really had."

Jace's eyebrows rose calmly and his eyes flickered to the feline eyeing them both expectantly once before answering with a simple, "Oh?"

It was a simple statement. Encouraging her to go on. Telling her that he knew she had more to say.

She did.

"Yeah," she continued, her tone weak even to her own ears, but she was talking and even Simon would've been proud of that. "He was this super dork. Always going on about some new video game or something. He's always been like that though, rambling and dorky and funny. It got him into some trouble in grade school. By first grade, he'd basically had every bully convinced he was their catch of the day or something, but he never minded bullies. He even claimed to pity them because they were deeply insecure or something like that. I never minded the bullies either because defending him from bullies is how I met him and that's kind of what we were to each other. We protected each other from our bullies." She was rambling. She knew it before she'd even finished, but there was nothing that could have stopped her. She'd spent most of her life holding things like this back, but once she opened up a little bit, it was like a dam was breaking. She was drowning them both in her memories of Simon, but, watching his eyes light up in pleasure, she felt like she could finally breathe.

When she finished, Jace let the silence hang in the air for a moment, like he could tell she needed to stay in the memory a moment longer. Simon's laughter floated through her mind once more before it was replaced by Jace's voice.

"I can't help but notice that you used the past tense when you were talking about him."

The question he didn't need to ask hung heavily in the air for a moment. It was a challenge. A push. He was testing her limits and she wasn't exactly sure where she'd set them, but she'd offered him Simon and he'd asked for nothing else from her. Simon was more than curly hair and glasses.

He was tragedy.

So if she didn't give Jace the tragedy, then she'd given him nothing once again, while he'd given her everything.

Her decision was quicker than the silence between them indicated, but she gave herself an extra moment to gather her thoughts.

"I asked Simon to stay away from me almost two years ago," she replied, readying herself for the question that she knew would come next.

"Why?"

She inhaled deeply, pausing only momentarily for the vague hope that his voice would run through her head and offer her strength once more.

"To save his life."

She almost wanted to pry her eyes from his, but knew it'd be a fruitless effort. His gaze had held her captive enough times for her to recognize when it was happening.

"Save it from what?"

All roads led to _him_.

She opened her mouth to say something, but her voice was stuck in her throat. He attempted to wait out her silence at first, but something about the desperation in her eyes must have resonated with him.

"I'm sorry. I knew I was pushing too hard when I asked. I just couldn't help myself. You don't have to answer that."

She exhaled, pure, undiluted relief washing over her and she promised, with renewed confidence, "I want to get there, Jace. I just need to work my way there."

He nodded slowly, his expression showing more understanding than he probably felt, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

"I could tell how hard that was for you. Thank you."

She didn't know how to respond to that, simply because she hadn't done anything but take from since they'd met. Even now, her shoulders felt lighter and her smile came more easily than before.

His own smile bloomed when he noted her expression. Something about him always managed to find something in her face that was worth a smile, even when she couldn't see it.

When she thought the conversation was over, he added, "I wish I could meet Simon. I think we would've liked each other."

Clary only needed one look at the tall, fit, _gorgeous_ man in front of her, who was all cockiness and charisma, to start laughing uncontrollably and his look of confusion only served to intensify her fit.

Painfully, she managed to choke out, "Never in a million years!"


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: A little longer wait on this one, but I've been swamped, honestly. I currently attend classes and have three jobs so forgive me, comrades. This is a little fluffy, but you guys deserve it for sticking it out through almost exclusively angsty chapters. Thanks to all of my super kind reviewers! I love you all! Please let me know what you think/if you have any ideas!**

 **Disclaimer: I wouldn't need three jobs if I owned anything in this chapter, so… yeah.**

Chapter 24

Jace shouldn't have been surprised that Clary had managed to surprise him.

She'd been doing nothing but that since they met, so he couldn't understand why he'd expected her to stop now. Clary's only predictable feature, he was realizing, was her unpredictability. Just when he was convinced he'd gotten a read on her, she surprised him again.

He'd expected her to pull back. It had almost become the nature of the relationship. She'd give a little. He'd push for more. She'd pull back. He pushed again, more gently this time. And then she'd give a little more, restarting the cycle.

He'd done the initial push, as she'd just given him a little by reassuring him that she didn't plan on leaving after the initial seven-day deadline and had been ready and waiting for her to pull back from him. She'd been ready to pull back too, if her expression was any indication, but then she'd surprised them both by giving a lot.

Though she'd told him very little about her life before they'd met, he'd learned a lot.

He found that the story revealed more than just information about her friend Simon. For one, she'd prefaced her tale by telling him that Simon had been her only friend, and she'd clearly been in danger at least two years ago when she'd pushed him away, so whatever was wrong was clearly a more long-term issue, which was worrisome to say the least. It made him worry that perhaps she wasn't simply over-exaggerating the danger she was actually in. For the first time, he allowed himself to consider the possibility that he'd invited a possible threat into his life when he'd brought her home with him.

One look at the gentle, relieved smile she'd offered him before falling into his arms after their talk and he couldn't convince himself that whatever was coming wasn't worth it.

When he was holding her, as he did now on the couch in his living room that had never felt warmer, he was almost sure that what they had here was simple. That they were just a boy and a girl who met against the odds and cared about each other deeply. If they could've stayed like that, simple and together, maybe that was all they'd be. Simple.

But nothing about the world in which they both lived was simple and, in reality, nothing about Clary was simple, so that wasn't likely to be their fate.

It was this feeling, the yearning for something that may never be and the feeling of rebellion that rose up in him whenever he felt he was being told he couldn't have something, that compelled him to say what he did next.

"Let me take you on a date."

Her eyes widened and she pulled her head back from its perch on his shoulder to shoot him an incredulous look. Evidently, he still possessed the ability to shock her, as well. A soft blush crept across her cheeks so carefully, Jace was convinced she didn't feel it, and that was his favorite of her facial features. He was pleased that, among the things she was able to hide from him expertly, there was something that never failed to clue him in to how she was feeling. He'd come to read her blushes very carefully.

This one, for instance, indicated surprise, obviously, and a sense of unsureness he'd learned to attribute to any indications made by him that she was attractive and someone he'd like to be with. He was sure that he could take out an ad in the paper about his feelings for her and still garner this gentle blush before her mind caught up to her and forced a more furious tinge of red to her cheeks.

Her mouth dropped open and he waited for a response that was very evidently not to come.

"I've hardly been subtle, Clary. This can't be that surprising."

She shut her mouth in response and he watched her swallow, like she was preparing for a difficult conversation.

"I guess it's not. It's just, well, I've never…" her voice trailed off and she averted her eyes from his, her blush intensifying.

He sat for a moment, waiting for her to finish, something he did with alarming frequency, when it dawned on him what she was trying to say.

"You've never been on a date."

Her humiliated expression eradicated any doubts that lingered about the correctness if his assumption.

He was honestly surprised at himself for not assuming she'd never dated. She'd clearly had a checkered past and boys would've been the last thing on her mind. If her situation made having a friend tough, it made perfect sense that she'd never had anything resembling a boyfriend. In the back of his mind, he recalled a moment when she'd implied that she'd seen plenty of men shirtless, but she could've just been teasing him. She'd yet to say anything untrue, so he stored the tidbit in the back of his mind, determined to ask her about it later.

"It's not aa big deal, Clary. It's fine that you haven't," he reassured her, briefly concerned that the amount of blood rushing to her head would make her pass out or something.

She placed her face in her hands and mumbled something unintelligible to him. Laughing lightly, he linked his fingers around hers and pried them from her face so that they were holding hands.

"One more time, firecracker. Try saying it for human ears this time, okay?" he teased, hoping his light tone conveyed how little he cared about her experience or lack thereof.

Never once in his brief time of knowing her had she seemed younger than she did then. Her eyes which usually clouded over in some unknown pain were clear, albeit sheepish. He almost would've believed that she was only 18.

She glared at him in irritation, but repeated, "You're probably loaded with experience though. It's hardly fair."

Good point.

It was true he'd had a wealth of experience both at home and during his brief tenure at NYU, but he'd never felt about anyone the way he did about Clary. Even before the accident he'd been sure to keep everyone he'd dated at arms' length, but something about the redhead blushing next to him made him want to pull her closer and hold on tight.

"I don't exactly have any experience with this particular situation for a number of reasons, so it'll be new for me too, Clary."

She scoffed, clearly unconvinced by his logic.

"This is all new for me though. I've never done any of this. The closest I've ever come was my friendship with Simon and I definitely did not have the same feelings for him that I do for you," she argued, her eyes frustrated.

His chest constricted at the subtle affirmation of her feelings for him. He'd been somewhat confident that his sentiments were reciprocated, but it was tough to tell with Clary.

"I hate to burst your bubble of naïveté, Clary," he leaned towards her, their noses brushing, "but you're not doing too badly, so far."

He couldn't tell what was more red: her hair or her face.

"You're doing this on purpose," she huffed, keeping her face close.

"Doing what?" he teased, nuzzling the side of her face with his nose.

There was a slight tremor in her voice when she replied, "Flustering me. You act all sweet and lean all close and flirt and say my name like you do and –"

"Whoa, slow down, here. What's wrong with the way I say your name?" he interrupted, pulling back enough to be able to look her in the eye.

She hadn't meant to add that last part evidently, as she stammered quickly, "I don't know. You just, well, you j-just say it and I don't know. It's so, well, yeah. Deliberate, I guess? Like it matters that you're saying it. Or something. I don't know."

His grin was so wide he was worried his face would freeze that way.

"Your name, huh?" he teased, wrapping a hand around her thigh and pulling her down across the couch, his free hand at her side so that she was stretched against the cushions with him hovering above her, a knee on one side of her legs and his foot still pressed into the ground so that he was supporting himself above her.

He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss on her collarbone and whispered, "So you like it when I say your name," he paused, dragging his lips across her neck to her ear, " _Clary_."

She squeaked indignantly at the movement, but could only mutter a weak, "Jerk," when he teased her.

"Is that how you really feel, _Clary_?" he pouted, pressing another soft kiss right below her earlobe. "Because," another kiss on her neck, "if it is, _Clary_ ," another kiss, "then I might have to be a little meaner to teach you a lesson about name-calling."

He could almost physically feel the suspicion coming off of her in waves as she began, "Jace, what do you-"

Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by an eruption of giggles from her lips as he pressed his to her neck and blew a raspberry.

"Oh my God, Jace, stop!" she squealed, squirming beneath him as his fingers found purchase in her sides, which were, if her laughter was to be believed, ticklish.

"Stop what? I can't hear you, Clary, you're laughing too loudly," he bellowed, his smile evident in his voice.

"I hate you!" she breathed between giggles.

"Just say you'll go on a date with me and the torture stops, firecracker," he taunted.

"Seriously? You're ransoming a date?"

In reply, he pressed his fingers more deeply into her sides, causing her to burst into laughter.

"What can I say? I'm desperate."

She laughed again and exclaimed, "Fine! I'll do it! Just stop!"

There was something so absolutely beautiful about the breathless girl beneath him, her eyes lighter than air and her cheeks flushed in amusement.

He prayed to whoever decided to give him someone this good would let him keep her.

It was when she leaned up to kiss him that he allowed himself to hope he'd been heard.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I'm deplorable. The wait is heinous and I'm the worst. I'm really sorry. My only excuse is that I'm working three jobs and attending college and still trying to have friends. It's a lame one, but it's what I have. I'm trying to wrap the story up because I know where I want to go and I've been writing this entirely too long. Two years for 25 chapters is entirely too long. I won't rush it obviously because I still want this to be quality, but I'm feeling less inclined to write chapters devoted solely to developing characters and relationships. This is hardcore plot time. I think I've developed these characters and relationships enough. There will still be developments of course as we meet new characters and stuff, but a lot of the earlier chapters are focused only on building a relationship, so that's probably done for a little bit. This is probably a relief to any long term readers who've suffered through this. Sorry. Should be over soon-ish I hope. Let me know what you think! We're going to find out who the Morgenstern is soon, so any final guesses?**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am a college student. I own so little that I in fact owe people things. RIP**

Chapter 25

She had nothing to wear for a date, but that couldn't quite keep the smile off of Clary's face.

She'd been sporting one ever since Jace had asked her out and couldn't even imagine how she'd go about schooling her features. To make things better, everyone and their mother seemed to innately know that the golden boy was the source of her joy, especially Jace himself. She'd have the self-respect to be embarrassed by her transparency if Jace's own face didn't split into a grin whenever he saw her smile.

Clary wasn't sure who'd released the information of their date, but she was beginning to suspect that this town saw everything, when Isabelle strode up to her during the lunch rush and unceremoniously asked, "So, tonight's the big night, huh?"

She surely would've dropped the plates she was holding in surprise had she not become an expert at concealing her feelings from everyone but a certain blonde-haired individual. Instead, she managed to merely cock an eyebrow at Izzy and state, "I suppose it is. Any tips?"

"Don't wear anything you own," she quipped bluntly, eyeing Clary's admittedly questionable ensemble consisting of black leggings and one of Jace's long sleeved, green flannel shirts, with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and one of Jace's belt wrapped around her waist several times.

It was becoming increasingly clear to Clary that, if she intended to stay with Jace in Alicante, she needed to think seriously about the future. She needed clothes of her own, a job that could support her more than Maryse's did, a place of her own to get her out of Jace's hair, and a well thought out plan.

The danger she was putting both herself and the inhabitants of Alicante in was painfully present in her mind. There was hardly a moment that went by without a pair of black eyes hovering in the back of her mind. It cast a shadow over all of her new life's joys, of which there were undoubtedly many. Since she'd arrived here she'd made friends, begun to deal with her past, had been offered hope for the first time and had, of course, been introduced to Jace. Every day, she was falling in love with this life more and more. In fact, just the other day, she caught herself sketching on a menu. She hadn't realized what she was doing at first, which was alarmed her considering how second-nature it was even after everything she'd been through, but when she'd looked down and discovered what she'd drawn, she'd been nothing short of shocked.

She'd drawn Jace and, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she'd created something good.

And that was a part of her. She was capable of good, at least in drawing. Maybe she wasn't poison after all.

So the only way she'd be able to live with herself in her new life was to build a plan so strong and all encompassing, that she'd be certain to keep the people she was beginning to love safe. And she was working on it, but it was admittedly becoming harder and harder to focus on the darker aspects of her life when all of her days where surrounded by the glow that encompassed Jace.

Making the first part of her plan finding her own place. From there, she needed to begin setting aside money for potentially going on the run in the future as well as hiding an emergency supplies bag in this new place of hers.

From there, she'd need to begin compiling the information necessary to take her monster down, but she was definitely out of her depth there. Luckily, that was something she could figure out one step at a time.

Her final step would be to secure herself a gun.

The very idea of having something that could end somebody's life scared Clary, but that fear was nothing in comparison to the pure, unbridled terror she experienced whenever she thought of what was behind her. She couldn't stop herself from checking over her shoulder or peaking around corners, waiting for a snarl that he reserved especially for her.

She needed to be ready to end him, regardless of the consequences.

Even if it cost her Jace. Even if it cost her soul.

But she'd need to smart small with tonight and her clothing.

"Geez, Izzy. You don't really leave me with a ton of options there," Clary teased, uncomfortable with how easily her mind slipped both into and out of incomprehensibly dark thoughts.

Isabelle rolled her eyes, unperturbed by Clary's sarcasm and apparently ignorant of any shift in mood that might have momentarily occurred and replied, "Thankfully, you have my fabulous wardrobe to assist you on looking your best for your date tonight."

Clary shook her head at Izzy's kindness and quickly dismissed, "You don't have to do that. I'm sure I can manage with what I have."

"No offense, Clary, but you most definitely won't get Jace's attention wearing _his_ t-shirts," she added coyly, a glint in her eye that stated quite plainly 'you didn't think I noticed, did you?'

Clary felt her face get hot and knew without a doubt that she was blushing. Words couldn't begin to express how relieved she was that Isabelle had decided not to ask her any questions on the issue.

"Look, let me help, Clary," Isabelle pleaded, her eyes wide and sincere. "Jace would probably go gaga for you in a t-shirt and sweatpants, but this is your first date with him and you deserve to feel every bit as beautiful as you are."

Clary's blush deepened and her smile resurfaced, though this time for another reason.

"I want to do this for you," she continued. "I want Jace to be happy and I know you can make him happy, but I also really like you. I don't know what's going on with you or why you're really here, but you haven't been happy, I don't think, and he can make you happy, I know he can. So I want that for you, so at least humor me and let me feel like I helped you both get there in some way."

Clary's only response could be a nod, as this striking, exuberant woman before her had rendered her speechless.

Since her arrival in town, Jace had proved himself to be a truly good person and Clary had managed to reconcile that conclusion with her own life experiences by dubbing him as one of the exceptions to the rule. So, it still shocked Clary to discover more and more good people in the world, like Isabelle.

She was stunned by the enormity of this girl's heart and was forced to consider re-evaluating her outlook. Maybe good was the rule and her life had been the exception.

The relief that came with these thoughts didn't dissipate as she allowed Isabelle to rifle through her wardrobe for clothes that'd both fit Clary's small frame and fit the date atmosphere. Unfortunately for Isabelle, it was too cold for dresses and there was little doubt in either girl's mind that Clary wouldn't fit in any of Isabelle's pants, as she was significantly shorter than her leggy friend, meaning that Clary's simple, black leggings were there to stay.

Isabelle chattered incessantly as she searched and Clary listened halfheartedly, relieved that her friend rarely required a response. She required neither support nor advice, as she could sort her life out in general on her own, but Clary suspected she liked the sensation of having someone there to listen to her, making her chatter the perfect environment for Clary to begin mentally preparing herself for whatever a date with Jace would entail.

She had no idea what to expect from this.

She'd never been on a date before, so already she was out of her element, but, even if she had been, she was certain that this would be entirely different from any regular date. She was quickly figuring out that there was no way for her to prepare for Jace Wayland.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jace arrived at the diner at the end of her shift, Clary's first reaction had been _wow_.

He'd clearly left from renovating a church in the town earlier than usual to prepare, as his hair was still wet from the shower he'd taken and he'd changed clothes. The paint-splattered, ripped jeans and flannel shirt she'd left him in had been replaced by a crisp, dark pair of jeans and a brilliant, electric blue V-neck sweater with a white t-shirt peeking out from underneath. His hair curled lightly at the ends like it always did when it got wet and the end result was beautiful.

Jace looked fantastic.

His eyes scanned the café briefly before landing on her. The weight of his gaze had never been heavier as his eyes travelled from her head to her toe, taking in and hopefully appreciating Isabelle's great work. While the black leggings and black flats that adorned the lower half of her body were things with which Jace was acutely familiar, the flowing, mint green tunic cinched at the waist and dangling off her shoulders was entirely new, as it was entirely Isabelle's. The taller girl wore it as a shirt, but on Clary it was more akin to a dress as it came to her knee. Clary's hair had been freed of the braid she'd pulled it into that morning and now hung in the tight, wild ringlets it naturally formed, leaving her hair large and messy, but not, as Isabelle decided, unattractive. Isabelle had completed her masterpiece with a light, silver eyeshadow and a pink tinted lip balm that she'd gifted to Clary "just in case things went well".

Isabelle had done surprisingly little work aside from providing the tunic, but Clary had never felt more glamorous in her entire life. She'd certainly never even entertained the idea that she was pretty like she did now.

When Jace's eyes returned to hers they were bright and a wide grin had overtaken his face, to which she could only respond with a smile of her own. Her heart constricted as he approached her, all too quickly and slowly at the same time.

When he reached her, she began, "You look gr-"

Any compliment she would have paid him was swallowed whole by his mouth descending on hers fiercely. His hand was buried in her hair and one arm encircled her waist pulling her flush against him. The few stray diners remaining at Maryse's began to make what sounded like startled noises, but they all melted away as Clary relaxed into Jace's embrace and return the kiss blissfully. Any insecurities she had dissolved at how right the interaction seemed to her.

For whatever reason, she and Jace had always made sense and she wasn't sure why she expected that to change because things were getting more concrete.

When he pulled away, she was breathless and her knees were about as supportive as grape jelly. She was thankful for his arm around her, for otherwise she was certain she'd have been sprawled out on the café floor by now.

Not that she believed Jace would let her fall. He seemed to be one of the only people who hadn't done that yet.

"Hi," she breathed, her mind still reeling on the heels of what was very visibly a passionate kiss.

"Hi," he answered, his tone amused at the reaction he'd elicited.

"Is this how most normal dates start?" Clary asked, her voice low in a conspiratorial whisper.

His smile grew and his eyes shone with equal parts adoration and mischief as he dropped his voice and replied, "We certainly can get the ball rolling on this becoming the norm."

Her laugh was little more than an exhale and she leaned her forehead against his shoulder as her heart began slowing down. When she finally pulled it away, she caught glimpses of Maryse and Isabelle watching them from the counter. Isabelle's smile was proud and pleased.

Maryse's was cautious and all at once their earlier conversation rushed through her mind.

 _What's wrong with you? When is the other shoe going to drop?_

When the question had been asked originally, the answer had been a deadline. Now, as Maryse's eyes asked Clary the question again, the answer had changed.

It was two black eyes staring straight at Clary and a target on Jace's back.

Jace linked his fingers through Clary and began leading her to the door, literally tugging her out of her dark thoughts. She tried to bury them for the night. If the worst case scenario actually happened, Clary wanted to have the memory of this date to hold onto in the darkness.

"Where are we going?"

Jace's eyes lit up in delight at the question and it was clear that he was enjoying every aspect of this.

"Well, I could've somehow pulled out something super original and romantic, but then it occurred to me that you, my dear firecracker, have missed out on some prime cliché dating experiences, so I think it's in all of our best interests if I fill you up with some of those so that when I do get incredibly romantic," his eyes found hers with a flirtatious smile, "And I assure you, I do, you can appreciate those moments twice as much."

"Very interesting philosophy. It certainly helps this idea that it's winter and we're both trapped in an incredibly small town," she teased, cocking an eyebrow at him mischievously.

His grin was amused as he replied, "That certainly came into consideration when I was making the plan, now that you mention it."

Her laugh was easy and already she was having more fun than she'd had in quite some time before almost freezing to death on that bench.

"Okay, well you never answered my question. What cliché date place are we going to?"

"I was planning on dinner and a movie," Jace answered, helping Clary put on her coat, "But the only movie showing is the same movie we saw like a day ago that you thought was boring, so I decided a nice dinner would be a solid choice."

"If we're eating at Maryse's then I'm going to go to the bathroom and climb out the window, which I'm pretty sure is a cliché," she joked, earning herself a good-natured glare.

"Luckily for you, I had the foresight to lock all the windows, otherwise I'd be offended at that statement," he quipped, holding open the door for her pointedly.

"Alright," she amended, stepping outside, "Not Maryse's then. Where are we going?"

"The only slightly nice restaurant in town Mario's Italian Bistro. Be forewarned, though, Maryse's food is better and it's really not even that nice. Just nicer. So lower those expectations, snob."

And just like that, the feeling that tonight would change things arose with the sound of her laughter.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/n: Wow I am a monster. I really dropped off the face of the earth for a while. Apologies friends. Hopefully you aren't done with me. I had some stuff going on, but I'm back and ready to update as frequently as possible. Thanks for your patience and let me know what you think of this super short chapter! More is on the way!**

Chapter 26

Jace had known that dating Clary would be different, but he hadn't prepared himself for just how different.

Gone was the Clary with darkness in her eyes that appeared more often than Jace thought was fair. Before him was the light, exuberant, adorable Clary he'd noticed peeking underneath. He was constantly fascinated by just how many layers were in this cute person.

He was constantly shocked by how much he liked each one.

Talking about Simon had seemed to lift some of the weight off of her shoulders and she definitively had an easier time talking about her past. He'd been allowed to hear several stories of her escapades in high school and he could almost physically feel himself falling more for her.

"You punched a guy in the face for this Simon kid?" he asked, keeping the laughter in his voice.

The giggle that answered his question was enough to make him seriously consider committing his life to eliciting that sound from her lips.

"Well, it was quite clear that Simon wasn't going to do anything to defend himself. That why I needed to step in," she replied, joy flitting through her eyes.

"What'd the kid do when you punched him?"

The grin that ran across Clary's face was mischief in its truest form.

"He cried and everyone at school laughed at him. I hurt the shit out of my hand because I was too stupid to punch correctly, but it was satisfying beyond belief."

Jace clapped his hands together as a booming laugh escaped from his lips at the visual of his tiny Clary walloping a guy twice her size in the school hallways. She never failed to surprise him.

"So aside from incredibly violent and adorable," he began, watching her cheeks tinge pink at the 'adorable' comment, "what were you like in high school?"

Her eyes moved upward and she pursed her lips in faux concentration before answering, "Well, I had one friend, so clearly I was prom queen _and_ head cheerleader. It was the best time of my life."

Jace rolled his eyes and scoffed at her sarcasm.

"I'm being serious, Clary. What were you like? I want to know as much as I can about you."

Her cheeks flushed again, but her smile was pleased instead of embarrassed. She took a moment, seemingly actually in concentration this time, before answering, "Well, I loved art, but you know that. In high school, some of my art was still," she struggled for the word, her eyes trained on some fixed point above them, "good. So I was an art freak. Simon used to joke that my brush was glued to my hand."

"Why am I not surprised?" he asked with a laugh, taking in the unruly curls and the delicate way with which she moved her hands, as if they were more accustomed to painting the world in different shades than wielding a fork and knife.

The dim lighting of the restaurant seemed to make her emerald eyes shine brighter and the gentle din of the other patrons only amplified the music of laughter.

"Alright, blondie. How about you? I'm picturing a letterman jacket and a cheerleader on each arm. Maybe a shiny homecoming king crown to top it all off," she offered confidently.

"I'd really like for you to have been less accurate with that depiction, but you weren't wrong. I dated a lot of cheerleaders and lettered all four years in soccer."

"And the crown?" she asked, eyebrows quirked in curiosity.

He felt his lips turn upwards and wondered if they did that now of their own accord or if his brain was still in on it somehow. He leaned in more closely, bracing his arms on the table, and dropped his voice slightly to urge her to lean in too.

"I skipped homecoming. I never was a fan of dancing."

Her expression was puzzled and he could almost see the memories of them dancing at Pandemonium flash behind her eyes. She cocked her head slightly to the side, asking a wordless question.

The answer slipped through his lips of its own accord at the look in her eyes.

"You're proving to be an exception for me on all fronts."

She didn't blush at his words, surprisingly, although her cheeks were still tinged pink from his last comment. Instead, the gentlest smile Jace had ever had the pleasure of causing spread across her lips and the look in the eyes of the girl who was usually nearly impossible to read was clear as day: adoration.

And he'd have been naïve to think that she didn't see the same things reflected in his eyes.

She let him have the moment for only a few seconds more before he had to watch her grow self-conscious and reassemble her defenses.

"Have you always been close with Alec?"

And just like that, she was at a distance.

He could only be thankful that she hadn't gone far and used that as a testament to how far they'd come in the short time they'd been together.

"Pretty much, yeah," he answered, forcing his gaze to soften to match the conversation. "When I moved in with the Lightwoods, I was just a scared, arrogant kid and I felt like everyone was just so loud. Max was a baby so Maryse and Robert were in full-fretting mode all the time and they just kept checking up on me and watching me to see when I'd flip and Isabelle was just so intense. It just all made it really hard to feel at home with all of that. It was a bit overwhelming."

His eyes drifted from hers as a memory he knew well played before his eyes.

"Alec was different though. You've met him, so I'm sure you can tell that he's not the chattiest. For the first week maybe, he kind of just kept his distance and watched, I guess is the word. I think he was trying to figure out what the best way would be to approach me. It's like he could tell how tough it was for me. One day, I was just hiding in my room listening to music or something, mad as hell, and he just kinda walks in, slowly, like I was some sort of wounded animal that might flee. He asked if he could sit in the chair in the room and then just started reading. He didn't even really say anything. It was the weirdest thing. He kept on visiting me and gradually we'd just start talking more and more. Ever since then, I've always felt like if I needed someone Alec would be there for me, and I hadn't really had that before him."

He hadn't realized he was bearing his soul until he saw it reflected in her eyes. Perhaps she'd meant for the question to be casual and perhaps he'd hoped to come off more aloof than he had, but both had failed.

Her smile was soft, though her eyes were sad for him, which he could hardly fathom. Here was a girl who'd been friendless and scared enough to go on the run from her home and she felt sorry for him because his childhood hadn't been ideal.

"No wonder we clicked when we met. I think I was borderline mute for a while," she joked, the humor of her words doing little to dispel the intimate atmosphere.

He felt his cheeks split into a grin and retorted, "Getting you to talk was pretty much like pulling out teeth. You nearly bit me."

Her jaw dropped open in mock-offense, but the tinkling of her laughter through the air made it clear that that's all it was.

"You're one to talk. I'm pretty sure 90% of everything you said was either in the form of a grunt or found in the act of taking off your shirt."

His eyes flitted around the restaurant to find a few surprised patrons glancing their way, but Clary seemed to have no concern for the implication of what her, rather loudly, stated words held. His cheeks reddened slightly all the same, which of course she noticed, if the way her eyes lit up when they landed on them was any indication.

"My, my, what do we have here? Is _the_ Jace embarrassed? Someone should alert the media," she teased, subconsciously leaning even closer towards him.

He attempted to keep his reaction to her flirting in check by screwing his mouth into a smirk, dropping his voice, and answering, "I'm just a little worried that you'll announce to the entire restaurant just how much of me you've seen, Clary."

Without missing a beat, she hit him right back, "Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Apparently, I've got a lot of competition with the cheerleading community."

His eyes widened in surprise and his smile was uncontainable as he took in her sly smile and mischievous eyes.

 _This girl will be the death of me_ , he mused, still dazed by the confusing creature in front of him.

He couldn't bring himself to mind even that.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Another update and I didn't make you wait 3 months? Maybe Santa gave this monster a heart for Christmas. This might be one of my favorite chapters. Things are about to get fairly intense and I know how it's going to end. Sooooo I hope you like this. Let me know one way or the other.**

Chapter 27

The date had been going well, far better than Clary could have expected.

They'd lingered over a long dinner at the cute, little Italian place Jace had picked, sharing stories and jokes in what was without a doubt the most relaxing time she'd ever had with him. All at once, she felt she was finally experiencing a taste of everything she'd missed in her life.

She was comfortable. She was content. She felt safe.

And it was a lie.

Even as she basked in the warmth of Jace's fairly obvious adoration, she knew that she'd misled him. She'd shared more with him than she'd shared with anyone since Simon, but it wasn't enough. She'd barely even scratched the surface.

And looking up at him, their hands intertwined as they strolled casually through the town, trading jokes, she felt like he deserved the truth.

Even her plan felt like a lie. She was planning for a life with Jace that he didn't fully understand and maybe never would.

It occurred to her that if she didn't tell him now and he didn't make her, then she would never tell him. She would bury her ghosts until they were at her doorstep and, if by some grace of some higher power her plan succeeded, she'd move on with those black eyes burning a hole through her heart.

He deserved to know. No one deserved to be lied to. Especially not him.

"Jace," Clary stated abruptly, causing them to stop where they were. It was late. They'd lingered at dinner until closing, and so the streets were empty. Jace turned toward her, evidently sensing some of the anxiety brewing in her tone.

"Mmm?" he hummed, feigning nonchalance as he angled his face closer, so that their foreheads were nearly touching. She wondered absentmindedly if he was trying to comfort her or himself through the gesture.

"There's a lot you don't know about," she admitted, her voice just above a whisper. A vision of her mother's eyes, pale and empty, brimmed just behind her own, so she shut them, a futile attempt to either keep him out or keep her memories in.

"Hey, look at me," he whispered, his fingers tilting her chin upwards. "Clary, open your eyes."

She released a slow breath and forced her eyes open. His gold eyes, so trusting, shone back at her, and weakened her resolve. He truly believed that there was nothing she could say that would change things.

 _This was your fault, Clary. I may have pushed her, but you gave the order_.

The voice she knew wrapped itself around her throat, like poison, reminding her just how misplaced his trust truly was.

"I know enough about you, Clary. You can tell me whatever you want to tell me, whenever you want to tell me, but it doesn't change anything," he promised, his expression fixed with sincerity.

Oh, how she wanted to let his words protect her and chase out the darkness, but she'd tried that once and had lost Simon in the process.

And she knew she could live without Jace. Knew she could press his lips to the back of her mind as surely as he'd pressed them to hers. Knew she'd get to the point where waking up every morning became a matter-of-fact event, rather than a result of sheer force of will.

But she wasn't sure how much of _her_ would be left if she did lose him. She wasn't confident her smile would ever quite reach her eyes like they did when he said her name.

She could quite clearly see how closely Jace was tied to her last shred of humanity. The Morgenstern curse had killed her family. Had beaten the joy from her mother's eyes long before a long fall had finished the job. She wasn't sure her father had ever had a semblance of humanity, which is why he'd been so set on creating his own warped one. Even Luke had been left nearly empty when Clary had left him to die, and he wasn't a Morgenstern.

 _You have a strong heart, Clary_.

Those were the words Luke had left her with when he'd helped her escape. She'd asked him to come with her, to escape his own fate, and he'd uttered those words, as if he was relieving her of guilt. And, in a way, he was. He was promising her that she could escape the fate her mother had married.

She'd looked into his eyes and knew that this was his last defense against the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

And she'd left.

And she'd leave Jace if she needed to, but she couldn't lose him. Not without a fight.

"I promise you, Jace. You don't know enough. No one can have – I keep thinking that there's no way I could've done and seen what I have and come out whole. That's not what poison does. It kills things and it's been killing me since I was born." Her words sounded harsh on her lips and she wondered if she was going to cry. It'd been a while since she'd cried. Not since a little before when she'd left.

There was something kind of innocent about crying, she'd thought. Surely if you could muster up the tears for the event, then you weren't empty.

She'd since disavowed herself of such useless thoughts. It wouldn't be that easy. Of course it wouldn't.

"Clary," his voice was so soft and she knew she was crying, but her cheeks were numb to the wetness she was sure she should be feeling.

Her voice was weak, crying certainly was a show of weakness after all, when she said, "Jace, you're so good. I don't know if you even see it, but I don't think you do. You're so good and tonight was so amazing." She could feel the tears now, but couldn't muster up any embarrassment at the fact, much to the shame of her father she was certain. Jace leaned forward and pressed kisses over where her tears fell, and maybe that was what prompted her to say what had been on her mind since she met him: "I don't deserve you."

"Clary, no," Jace began, kissing her firmly on the mouth, desperation hanging around the edges of his words. "Clary, you've been so good for me. After Max died-"

"Jace, you don't have to-"

"No, please, let me say this. You should know, okay?"

The earnestness in his expression rendered her speechless.

When she didn't respond, he continued, "After Max died, I just shut down. I couldn't even tell that it was happening, but I just felt really responsible for it, because I was driving. Objectively, I know it wasn't really my fault. Some asshole ran a red light. Shit happens. But I couldn't get it out of my head. His eyes. His face. I did that. I couldn't just go on like nothing had changed. Everything I was doing just felt stupid and empty after that. I quit school and moved back home.

"I lived and worked with Maryse and Robert for a while afterwards, but then everyone started to move on, I guess. Alec went back to work and school. Izzy started seeing a therapist and then she went off to college. Robert moved out after she left, and then it was just Maryse and I. Neither of us knew how to move on, so we didn't. I bought the house I live in now and started picking up whatever odd-jobs the town needed me to. I stopped dating, going out, and striving for really anything. It was like Max's death hit the pause button on my life, and I didn't know how to start it again."

Clary felt her heart breaking for this man with each word. She'd been told about the Jace she never met, the one from before that fateful night at the bus stop, by his family and friends. She could very clearly see the hole Max's death left in their lives, by Izzy's fragile openness, Alec's quiet reluctance, Maryse's suspicion, and Robert's absence. Nothing so clearly showed how broken this family had been by the loss of Max more than the shattered look on Jace's face, as he forced himself to relive what was very clearly the worst time in his life. She felt a certain tenderness towards him, his bravery and newfound openness. He'd gone through a lot and he could still manage such kindness. It broke her heart and strengthened her feelings for him in equal measures.

A protective instinct rose up in her that she wasn't prepared for. The instinct to help him through this time in his life was so strong that she didn't know how to react.

"And then I met you," his words were a type of gentleness she'd only ever felt matched by his eyes. She felt herself tremble slightly, still in his arms. His grip on her face tightened slightly when he noticed her reaction and he continued, "From the first moment I met you, I could just feel this pull towards you. Listening to you talk and open up and trust me, it felt like I could breathe again, for the first time. Meeting you was the first time that I felt like I should plan for the future. That I have something to get up in the morning for.

"I don't mean to say this to be too intense or scare you off, Clary, but I refuse to believe that I'm the only one feeling this. There's something here. Something that can take its time and relax and be as casual as need be, but it's going to be special and we both know it. So don't tell me that you don't deserve me or anything like that. This is important for both of us. You already mean so much to me and I can do that for you, whenever you're ready."

She released a heavy, shuddering breath at his words. How could he be so open with her? How could she sit there and listen to him bare his soul and give him nothing?

He deserved to know.

And just like that, a decision was made.

"It's Jonathan."

"Jonathan?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

She locked eyes with him, her gaze almost as intense as her next words.

"My brother."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: I know I made you wait a while, but this was a hefty, challenging chapter to write. I only hoped I did it justice. I also went to Disney World for like two weeks. I'll be real, you guys weren't on my mind. I love you though. I hope you enjoy this, but let me know either way! Thanks dears!**

Chapter 28

A slight tremor in his fingers as he maneuvered his key into the lock of his front door was Clary's only indication that Jace was less cool and collected than he was trying to appear.

For some reason, his anxiety brought her relief. At least if he was nervous, then he was taking this seriously, although he'd have to be a fool not to. Clary didn't think he was fool, despite his abysmal taste in women.

After no more than a moment of fumbling with the lock, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, and Clary let herself remember the night Jace found her and carried her back. He was a stranger then and she'd found him entirely unlikeable. But even then, when she should've been terrified, there was something about him that made her feel inexplicably safe.

She felt that security wash over her even now, as she forced the black eyes of her brother to her mind.

The pressure of his hand on the small of her back brought her back to the present as he guided her through the doorway and shut the door behind them, locking it to make her feel even more comfortable.

She couldn't say how she found her way to the sofa and perched herself on the edge of the middle seat. It was as if her body was on autopilot while her mind reeled in search of a way to tell Jace what she needed to. She might as well have been reliving it all.

She flinched at her father's hands on her and her mother's pleas. Her brother's protective stance between her and the first evil she ever knew played clearly in her mind. The dead animals. Injured children. Her brother being pulled from school. Her mother's plan. Her own escape. It was another lifetime compared to the worn sofa that dipped slightly when Jace joined her.

"You don't have to tell me, Clary," he stated clearly, though his voice sounded miles away.

His gold eyes were focused intently on her and she attempted to return that focus. Jace was here and she was safe and she was doing this for him.

Or maybe she was doing this for her.

"My father is - well was – the leader of the Los Angeles gang The Forsaken. His name is Valentine Morgenstern," Clary watched Jace's reaction at her first admission, but he remained unmoved. If the revelation shocked him, he gave no indication. She continued, "He inherited the position from his father and the cycle continued that way. He was fully prepared to give it to my brother, Jonathan, when he was ready to retire. That's what he told us, anyway, whenever he beat my brother. He was just trying to toughen him up. Me too, but never as badly. My mom threatened to leave him if he didn't stop when we were still pretty young, so he did, but Jonathan despised him for it. He would actually actively try to provoke beatings and he always succeeded. My mom never left though, and I guess Jon started to hate her for that."

She sucked in a deep breath, though not because of what she'd already said. She'd distanced herself from the pain of her past quite some time ago. It was her brother's fall that still tormented her. She'd always assumed Valentine had been better in his youth and that the evil of what he was doing had poisoned him, like it was trying to do to her, but since she'd never known him then, he was easy to hate. She could quite easily pretend that he was only evil and she'd certainly never been able to love him.

But Jonathan was different.

"He was so angry always and hateful, but when he was around me, it was like a switch would flip. He could be gentle and annoying and funny and protective, like a big brother should be. Whenever my dad would hit me, Jonathan would try desperately to throw himself in front, no matter what. He was my hero and he said that I was proof that there was still goodness in the world. I loved him so much that I couldn't see what he was becoming."

She had to take a breath as memories of washing the blood off of Jonathan's knuckles from punching their father back traipsed across her vision. He had always been beautiful, despite the dark tint to his eyes that often gave off the effect that he was menacing. She remembered when he'd cried into her hair, begging her to tell him that he wasn't like Valentine. He was good.

And he was, so she did.

"My mother did. She loved me unconditionally but she was the first to admit that something about my brother unnerved her. She told my Uncle Luke that it was the complete lack of feeling in his eyes whenever he looked at her. And then when I was about to graduate from grade school, he started picking fights and suddenly the other school kids would be injured and my mom would find dead animals in his room. She apparently plotted to leave with me and Luke one night and he found out somehow. I came into her room in time to see her fall over the edge of the big window in our house and he was standing there, watching her fall."

Somewhere, her brain registered Jace's hand closing around hers and she realized she'd been digging her nails into her palm. Funnily enough, the pain didn't register, as the familiar numbness she'd come to associate with this particular memory wrapped around her like a well-loved cloak.

"I couldn't register that he'd pushed her. It felt surreal. I remember him running to hug me as I stood there, empty and confused. I didn't understand. She wasn't dead, but then I heard Luke scream, an agonizing scream that I still dream about sometimes, and I knew she was. It didn't take me long to figure out he'd done it."

 _What happened?_ She heard young Clary ask, her voice slightly muffled by her brother's shoulder.

The pause that followed. That horrible moment when Clary distinctly remembered feeling frozen, like all of the air in the room was simultaneously gone and pressing in on her. She couldn't move and yet she was teetering on the edge of the ledge her mother had fallen of off.

All to be shattered with a simple, _She was going to separate us. Take you away from me. I had no choice_.

She stayed in his arms for a moment more, in pure unadulterated disbelief, before pulling back.

 _What did you do, Jon?_

His eyes blazed with an anger she'd only ever seen aimed at her father as he answered, _What did_ I _do? This your fault, Clary. I may have pushed her, but you gave the order_.

That was the day she lost both her mother and her brother.

"I tried to avoid Jonathan completely after that. My father, I think, knew what he'd done, but we never acknowledged it. He just seemed to regard Jonathan with an ounce of fear, and the beatings at once stopped. Jonathan tried to apologize, but when that didn't work, he resorted to screaming, breaking down my bedroom door, and threatening me. My father, thankfully, did everything he could to keep us separated and protect me and it worked for a while."

Clary remembered this period with stark clarity. She could pinpoint the exact moment she realized her brother felt more for her than was natural. One night he broke down her bedroom door and held her so tightly there were bruises. She cried and screamed until a guard, well several guards, could extricate him and lock him away. Her father placed guards at her door every night thereafter.

 _You belong to me, Clary. You're mine_ , he'd snarled.

"I attended high school until my sophomore year, when my brother became so volatile I was pulled out, for fear of what he'd do to the other classmates. He threatened to kill Simon if I ever spoke to him again, and so I cut him out of my life, very painfully. My father taught me to defend myself and I was tutored daily and kept under constant guard so that he didn't harm me. I still saw him, of course. He visited me hourly, to make sure I was still terrified. I was clear that I needed to leave the second I turned 18."

Jace's armor had started to show cracks. His jaw was tight, as if he was trying to keep himself in check, and his eyes were sadder than she'd ever seen them. She'd have been touched by how affected he was by her past had she not been emptied of emotion.

"Two weeks before I'd turned 18, Jonathan murdered my father and took over the family business. That was the first time I tried to escape. Jonathan nearly broke my arm, he was so angry. My freedom was taken from me in stages. At first, I was allowed to roam the house and leave it, under the misguided hope that I'd fall in love with Jon on my own, but when his patience ran thin after my third escape attempt, I was confined to the house. After two more escape attempts and a slap on my part, I was confined to a room and he'd visit every night with food and presents to win me over. When it didn't work, he'd lose his temper and force me to kiss him. Thankfully, my screaming stopped him from moving things further."

Clary was crying now. She could tell by the way the fury burning in Jace's eyes melted to compassion. He touched his forehead to hers in a supportive gesture, but she was too entrenched in her darkness to relish in his warmth.

She remembered every moment so clearly. The bruises. The tears. The screaming matches. His cold lips forcing hers apart. The horrific things she'd drawn as she felt her humanity slip further and further away.

"About a month ago, my Uncle Luke broke into my house dressed as a guard and, well, kidnapped me is the best word for it. He took me, and Simon, who was originally a stray cat who'd creep into my room through the bars on my window every night, to a bus depot with everything that was in that bag you found with me and $1000 and told me to leave and never stop running. So I haven't."

Jace let the weight of her silence press down on them for a moment before asking, "Why did he save you?"

"He was in love with my mother and, I think, genuinely loved me like a daughter. He was around all the time when I was younger, trying to convince my mother to leave with me and Jonathan and to never come back."

"Why didn't she?"

The bitterness in his voice didn't shock her. Though she loved her mother, she often wondered about what type of woman let her children be raised in such conditions. Was it any wonder Jonathan grew harsh? Was it really inevitable or could she have saved them both? She'd come to terms with her mother's choices long ago, but Jace had every reason to place blame on her shoulders.

"I don't know. I think probably she truly loved Valentine, and when you love someone, it's hard to see what they've become."

Another pause ensued and Clary felt a weight lift from her shoulders that she hadn't expected. Though this was her burden to bear, she suddenly was no longer bearing it alone.

"I'm so sorry, Clary."

She nodded and avoided the sincerity she found in his eyes because that was all she could do. She'd refused to wallow in self-pity before and hardly saw the point in it now. This was her life and that was unchangeable.

"You see now, don't you? Why I had to leave? He's coming for me, Jace. And the only way I can be free is if I don't let him find me."

"Hey, look at me," he whispered in a tone so soft she had no choice but to turn and catch his golden eyes. She didn't need to hear his voice to know what he thought he could promise. Safety, protection, redemption, and a future she'd never deserved.

But as he vocalized what his eyes were screaming, Clary could only feel like he wasn't thinking this through.

"I won't let him get you, Clary," he stated, his voice fervent. She knew he could tell she didn't believe him.

They were both fighting a losing battle.

"And how do you propose to stop him, Jace?" she asked, knowing she was being unnecessarily cruel. "He has more money and power than either of us will ever see. No one stands a chance against him."

She was standing now, a fact she only realized as she watched him rise to stand before her. When had she started moving away from him?

"Clary, don't do this. We can figure this out. I can protect you, okay?" His hands reached for her just as his words did and they were twice as gentle as they came to rest on her shoulders.

"Protect me? Jace, you have a family who loves you and needs you and you can't protect them if I'm around. He's ruthless."

"That's not fair, Clary. I care about you and you know that. If something happened to you, I don't know what I'd do."

He meant it, she knew that. He meant it as much as he could.

"I know you think you want me, Jace, but can you honestly tell me that you want everything that entails? I never stop looking over my shoulder. I never feel entirely comfortable or safe. I'm always ready for the next hit, no matter where it comes from or where I am. There is nothing safe or easy or comfortable about Jonathan Morgenstern."

"So what? I'm supposed to just turn off how I feel about you because it's not convenient? I'm sorry, Clary, but I don't operate like that. I can't stop this anymore than you can, so as far as I see it, my only option is to find a way out of this for you." His eyes were blazing now and she knew she'd provoked his temper, yet again.

"There is no way out of this, Jace, and that's what you don't understand," she yelled, her chest heaving in anger. She jabbed a finger at his chest as she continued, "There is _no_ way out of this! He will never stop coming for me. He will never stop. He won't just give up. Nothing and no one can stop him. I will never escape him."

She was near hysterics and they both knew it. The last time she'd been this upset had been at her mother's death. Then, too, she'd been losing faith.

Then, too, she was losing everything.

The silence that followed weighed heavily on both of them. Everything about Jace was tense, as if at any moment he might break into action, whatever that action may be. Clary wasn't sure whether she should cry or scream. Either way, she was on the cusp of tearing her hair out.

For one excruciating moment, she was convinced Jace would kiss her.

Instead, she watched the tension drain from his body until his eyes radiated one word and one word only.

 _Exhaustion_.

"Well, it seems like you have nothing to lose in staying then, Clary," his tongue lingered over her name in the way she liked, making it sound invariably precious. With a sigh that rattled her bones in its resignation, he concluded, "Thank you for telling me everything. You've been telling me that I don't know the truth and now I do. I'd like to make my own choices in light of what I know."

Clary hadn't been to the ledge that had been the last thing her mother had known since the night she died, but watching the gold in Jace's eyes solidify as his resolve did, Clary knew she was there now. Leaning over the edge of a fall that'd either set her free or kill her and had already robbed her of so much, she could only wonder if she'd ever left that ledge. If she'd ever not been on the edge of losing it all.

"And what's your choice?" she asked, knowing his answer as surely as she knew what she wanted it to be.

A kiss on the forehead. That was how he dealt out their sentence. A small, slow lean forward was the only warning she had before the ground was rushing towards her. A gentle meeting between his lips and her flesh mirrored the rush of the air that rushed past, delaying her fall.

"I choose you, of course. I choose you, always."

Was this how her mother felt before she knew if she would die or not?


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: I'm the worst. I'm very sorry for the unofficial, unintentional hiatus. I hope to begin posting more regularly again soon. I've just been going through some things, which I'm going to work through. Very sorry again. I will finish this story. I promise.**

Chapter 29

Clary slept in Jace's arms that night.

There'd been no discussion of this change. After their fight, Jace had changed into his pajamas, silently signaling for Clary to do the same. As if on cue, she felt all the energy leave her body and followed his lead.

When he emerged from the bathroom, she closed herself into it, her head pressed against the cool wood of the door while she tried to rein herself in. Her heart was pounding in her chest for lack of anything better to do. There was no natural response to anything that had just occurred.

Clary had imagined a variety of outcomes to telling Jace everything – with outcomes as varied as him calling the police, kidnapping her for her own protection, or revealing that he'd been a sick joke plotted by Jonathan the entire time – but she gave very little thought to how she'd feel when she was done.

It was the one hit she hadn't prepared for.

So how did she feel?

The way she'd skirted by Jace on her way to the bathroom, avoiding contact in any way, indicated that she was unsure about how to react around him. Things had changed between them – that was undeniable. Their game of flirtatious house had essentially ended. Jace had offered Clary a verbal commitment that not even the most insecure sections of her brain could discredit. He knew everything and still wanted her. In some ways, no one on the planet had ever known Clary more than Jace Wayland did at that moment – and he still wanted her.

She had absolutely no idea how to even begin processing that.

Though she was unsure, she wasn't experiencing her normal flight emotions, like she figured she would've. Clary knew in that moment that there was no more leaving him. She was his for however long as he wanted her and – frankly – even when he didn't, she'd still be his.

There was a connection between them that Jace had constantly called her on and she'd never felt it more clearly than she did then. If Clary had been asked to give it a name, she'd be forced to stutter out the word destiny, though she'd never once allowed herself to believe that something so preposterous existed.

So, she was here and Jace was now hers to protect.

Surprisingly the concrete nature of this change was incredibly comforting.

Clarissa Morgenstern was relieved.

As she felt a smile creep to her face, she pulled back from the door and emerged from the bathroom, newly refreshed in the idea that what was going to happen was going to happen and she'd have Jace no matter what.

It only gave her momentary pause when she found him already in bed, lying on his back as close to the edge as possible. Her face flushed at the implication before she understood what he was doing. It was in the rigid nature with which he lay there that she found his reasoning incredibly obviously, as if he was awaiting a lifetime sentence to the bedroom floor.

He was making sure she didn't try to run away while he was asleep.

Clary's heart broke at the realization and her mind reeled as she searched for the perfect words to assuage his fears. But how could she explain to him what she only barely understood herself? That she was his and he was hers. That she saw in him now a responsibility to protect another person that she'd never before experienced. That there was no leaving him now.

It didn't matter anyway. She'd never been the perfect girl, so there was no real reason to find the perfect words. Instead, she offered him what she could and, after flicking off the lights, crawled into bed beside him.

They lay like that, side-by-side. The heat that bled from his skin was the only part of him she could feel and she'd never been more sure of the fact that he'd do nothing to change that. As the silence draped around them, interrupted only by his steady release of breath, it began to dawn on her that this scenario in particular was as new for him as it was for her. There was no possibility in her mind that he'd felt this way for anyone else.

Filled with a sudden urge to drink in this moment, as there would never be another quite like it in its simplicity, she turned so that she faced him. After only a moment's hesitation, she shifted closer so that her head rested on his chest, her right arm lay across it, and her left hand balled his shirt into a small fist. He paused after her move, as if giving her a chance to reconsider before moving his own arms so that one supported her neck and wrapped around her shoulders and the other rested on her waist, holding her snugly to his side.

There were no words. Just the persistent _thump, thump, thump_ of his heart against her ear, which sounded of nothing but whispered promises to her as she drifted asleep.


	30. Chapter 30

**An: I suck. I'm the worst. I am finishing this though, I swear. I hope people still care about this! Let me know what you think!**

Chapter 30

Clary's dream that night was nothing short of an omen.

She'd been in her room, back at the mansion where Jonathan had kept her locked up. It had been during her darkest period of living with him. It'd taken place after one of many escape attempts and she'd just begun losing hope.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking of ending it there.

It wasn't the setting of the dream that tipped her off to the idea that it was centered on _that_ portion of her life, although that certainly fit. The shades were drawn tight over the windows, blocking out the light and, more importantly, covering the bars that surely hid beneath. The lights were off and the room was covered with what would most appropriately be considered destruction. The memory of taking out her frustration, her anger, her heartbreak on all of the things Jonathan had handpicked to bring her joy.

The stuffed animals. The furniture. The pictures. The art supplies. Their remnants littered the floor of her prison.

None of that factored into her sense of what her mind was reminding her of. Instead, her brain had perfectly recreated the feeling of emptiness that she'd only escaped by the mercy of Lucian Graymark.

She'd been sitting on her bed, her lone surviving sketch board propped on her knees as her pencil scribbled furiously across the page.

Deep in her mind, she was aware of the fact that this must have been a dream. In fact, it felt like she was watching her hands and experiencing it all like a visitor in her own body, only having an access to the raw sensations of the cramp in her pencil-wielding hand and the throbbing of her left fist, an injury she bore proudly as a result of punching Jonathan in the face.

Mostly though, she felt empty. The type of empty that only came from a life that left her covered in scars.

She barely even registered what her hands were creating, though it was an image well ingrained in her memory as one of the pieces that made her put down her pencil until just recently.

Suddenly, it was like a flip switched. Along with her emptiness, she felt a mounting sense of anxiety as her least favorite time of the day approached. She didn't need to hear the fall of his footsteps to feel their weight on her shoulders. Her pencil scratched into the paper with alarming force, her movements becoming desperate, erratic as she tried to fill the page with her poison as quickly as possible.

Her mind registered the turning of the lock and the closing of the door distantly. She knew it drove him crazy when she ignored him, but the distance was inescapable. Her hand felt distant from the rest of her body. How could her mind not feel distance from the object of every nightmare she'd ever had.

He hesitated only momentarily and she felt his eyes take in the wreckage of her room as though he was scanning the wreckage he'd wreaked. His footsteps toward her were slow, methodical, and she felt her lips turn upward at the notion that if he was going to treat her like a timid deer he might as well do her the honor of shooting her.

It was only when she felt her bed dip, as Jonathan sat in front of her on the bed, did she look at what she'd made.

It was a self-portrait of sorts. She was standing on the edge of a cliff, her eyes scratched out. The cliff was drawn in graphic details and the bottom was looming ever closer, but she had a smile on her face. The bottom was better than the edge.

She gripped the sketchpad in both hands before turning it to show her brother, the words, "I hate every part of me that you love," left her lips before she had a chance to register at whom she was staring.

"Jace?"

Gold eyes stared back at her as his hands reached out to grip her shoulders, the pressure urgent against her numb skin.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, horror bubbling up in her throat so quickly she was certain it would suffocate her. He was practically glowing, out of place in this prison.

He didn't belong here.

"Clary, listen to me," his voice was calm, and even that felt out of place.

"Jace, go, please. Run!"

"Clary, you need to go. He's almost here. You need to go. He's on his way."

Her hands found purchase on his cheeks and she clung to him like a life raft. Her cheeks were wet and she absently noticed that she was crying.

"Baby, what do you mean? Please. You have to go. Jace, why are you here?"

"Clary, listen. He's coming. He knows where you are. Please," his words sounded faraway, even though she felt him there, with her. His presence was like its own gravitational force.

As the thought was processing in her mind, she felt him crumble beneath her fingertips. She could only watch as he turned to ash before her eyes, her screams lodged in her throat.

She didn't jolt awake, like the terror might have merited. She felt her body shift into consciousness, aware that it was more of a defense mechanism than anything else. Her brain couldn't handle that much torture for too long. She took a minute, focused on easing her breath so as not to disturb Jace, before slowly easing her eyes open.

She was still pressed against Jace's chest and the comfort was beginning to feel overwhelming in the wake of Jace's warning in her dream. All at once guilt and fear pounded against her rib cage, attempting to breach the small barrier to her heart so they could paralyze her.

She shifted slightly, her mind racing as she tried to think of ways she could escape without waking Jace up. All she needed was some fresh air. Some fresh air and the chance to clear her head was all she needed.

Squirming slightly to try to free herself from Jace's grasp, she elicited a groggy groan from the man beneath her. She froze in an attempt to make him fall back asleep. After a moment, when he made no more sounds, she tried to move again.

"Please, Clary. Don't leave me now."

He was half-asleep and she knew that. His eyes were still shut and the words were mumbled more than they were said. It was a wonder she'd understood him at all, but there was no mistaking the gentle pressure of his arm around her, holding her close with demanding.

She felt queasy, but despite her growing sense of unease, she settled back against Jace, her restless mind struggling to calm itself.

But there was a storm brewing. Simon's wide orbs watching her from the foot of the bed only affirmed that the two survivors knew their freedom was coming to an end.

All of Clary's carefully thought out plans, of purchasing an apartment, getting a job, getting a gun, now laid at her feet, discarded as easily as the clothes she'd been wearing that day.

With her ear against his chest, she tried to let the gentle beating of his heart lull her to sleep, but all that she could hear was the echo of footsteps drawing ever nearer to her.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Wow. I'm improving. Your reviews were pretty amazing. I love you guys. Please let me know what you think of this chapter. Things are going to be picking up pretty soon.**

Chapter 31

She thought the moment she knew Jonathan was back would strike her with such force that she'd be forced awake from the daydream life with Jace had become.

She'd been in a state based around the raw need for survival for so long that she'd expected them to almost reboot, as if she'd never stashed them away for this brief vacation. Her heart would pound steadily, three maybe four times, and her breath would escape her lungs for one empty, agonizing moment before she propelled herself into action. She imagined a rush of adrenaline that could only be likened to the experience where mothers were able to lift a car off of their babies in a moment of dire need.

She couldn't have possibly imagined the fog that settled over her, the second she saw the first poster.

The day had been like any other. She'd been walking to work, hand-in-hand with Jace, listening to him describe the dream he'd had the night before. It was a little routine they'd fallen into during the day. He'd walk her to Maryse's holding hands and describe his dreams, because he always remembered them and she rarely did. Though, if she did remember them, she tended to pretend she hadn't in an attempt to shield Jace from as much of her poison as possible. He'd take her to the diner, wait for her to get settled and chat with her and Maryse while they waited for the first few stragglers to wander in with only the word 'pancakes' on their lips. Then, he'd wander out with a sloppy, happy smile that made the long sought after feeling of contentment bloom like some rare flower in her chest.

The routine had continued as planned up until they'd emerged from the woods that separated Alicante from Jace's little cabin. The first thing either of them could really notice was the posters that covered nearly every surface of the town.

"What the-" Jace muttered, bending down to pick up a stray poster.

Other inhabitants of the town loitered on the streets, looking around at the madness that covered their worlds. Clary dimly registered Jace standing at his full height and studying the paper in his hands.

There was a moment, before the fog crept in, where she experienced every sensation in sharp, aching contrast. The air felt heavier and the chill was bitter. The sound of the people talking around her, of Jace asking her questions, all morphed together into cacophonous noise. Not words. Not people. Just noise.

And then, it all came to a crashing halt as the numbness took over her senses. Those voices slowly faded away, as did the chill and even the air around her. She wasn't sure if Jace was still speaking to her. She wasn't sure if time was passing quickly or slowly. She wasn't even sure if she was still breathing.

The only thing her brain could register was the movement of her feet against the pavement, as her vision narrowed in on a singular poster pinned to Maryse's window, surrounded by hundreds of others just like it. Everything else faded away as the poster grew closer and closer in her field of vision.

The paper hardly felt real between her fingers when she reached out to grab it from the wall. She'd expected it to feel heavier, as if the weight of the ask against her neck would transfer into the paper somehow, but logically she knew this was just paper. The evil was all elsewhere.

The image on the paper was one she knew well. It was the same sketch she'd drawn during her imprisonment when she'd yearn for her own ledge to fall off of, like her mother had. She recognized the harsh lines she'd used to depict a cliff and the darkness below, contrasted by the softness of her own features. The gentle sway of her curls. The curve of her chin. The manic tilt of her mouth upward as if a fall was the only thing she'd ever wanted.

The words on the paper were new. She'd never written them and the careful, precise handwriting was created by a hand much harder than her own.

No, the handwriting belonged to Jonathan, as did the message.

 _Boo. Come and find me._

The edges of her vision were tinged with black and a wave of nausea rolled through her, forcing her to swallow thickly against the bile that rose in her throat as surely as the anxiety shot through her bones. A ringing shot through her ears and it almost felt like her teeth were tingling. As the blackness encroached on the center of her vision and her lungs tightened painfully in her chest, she became aware of the way the earth seemed to sway beneath her feet. She was going to pass out. Badass survivor Clarissa Fray was going to faint here, in the center of the beating heart of her new home.

Just as she was sure her consciousness was going to slip from her grasp, she felt a pair of strong, tan arms wrap themselves around her center, anchoring her against a solid chest. She knew without question that the arms and the chest belonged to Jace and she also knew that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Breathe, Clary. I need you to breathe," Jace whispered against her ear, his breath warm against the ice that was her flesh.

She wanted to breathe, to do that for him. She really did, but her the panic in her body flooded her lungs and didn't seem to leave any room for air. A panicked gasp escaped from her lips in lieu of a careful description of what she was experienced.

He tightened his grip around her waist and expelled a breath of his own, before stating carefully, "Okay, Clary. Okay. Focus on the sound of my voice, okay? You're having a panic attack I think. Try focusing all of your attention on my voice until you can breathe, okay? I'm here, understand? I'm here with you and I'm not going anyway. Focus on that. Focus on how I feel for you because that is bigger than this. Okay? Please, Clary. Focus on me."

She shut her eyes and tried to do as he asked, letting his voice wash over her and blanket her with his familiar security, but letting thoughts of Jace mingle with the knowledge that Jonathan was well and truly back only allowed the anxiety to take a new form. This time, it looked like Jace's blood staining Jonathan's hands. If it was even possible, her throat closed even more tightly and she leaned even more heavily against him as her legs swayed.

"Clary, please, focus on me."

Amidst the madness and panic that was her mind and sensations, one thought burst through the fog in startling clarity.

 _I have to protect Jace_.

The singular thought echoed through her brain as she tried to focus on that. That was her purpose now. She took ahold of it and slowly pulled herself out of the ocean of anxiety that threatened to drown her. Jace had been her life raft. Jace had changed her life from survival first to something with meaning and people worth loving. Jace had singlehandedly pulled her from the deepest depths of the Morgenstern madness.

And she'd be damned if she let anything happened to him.

With new resolve, she forced air through her mouth and into her longs, her chest expanding painfully in short, aggressive bursts. Her lungs burned and she heard Jace's voice warn her to take it easy, but she forced herself to breathe anyway. She'd already lost too much time to panic. Now was the time for action.

She ripped herself from Jace's arms to turn and face him, feeling a slight twinge at the sight of his concerned face.

"Clary what was that? What does this mean? Is he back?"

His words came out in a rush so Clary knows that the control he's trying to exert over the situation through his calm tone is forced.

She moved her eyes to focus on his, on the warm gold color that seemed to drape itself over every inch of him and everything he touched. She could see in them his warmth, his goodness, his feelings for her, but she could also see his fear.

"I don't know, Jace," she answered, her own voice eerily calm.

He studied her, worry etched into every one of his features. Slowly, his mouth set into a grim frown.

"You're lying to me. I saw your face when you saw that poster. You know exactly what this. He's back, isn't he?"

She knew she should lie. The words of comfort she knew she should've offered curled up on her tongue like a contented cat, returning to its home.

But amidst all the lies and the dishonesty that stained her life, what they had between them was honest. So why start lying now?

She found herself uttering the honesty with more simplicity than their situation merited, "Yes. He's back, Jace. He's found me."

 _And I'm leaving._


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: This was a hard one to write. It was a large culmination of things that have been cooking the entire story. I hope I did it well. It honestly is one of the best chapters I've ever written. Hopefully, I don't peak (*nervous laugh*). Some people have been wanting more Alec and Izzy to which I have to say that we'll be getting some more of them later. We won't be seeing Jace for a little bit, so I wanted to give his POV again. Let me know what you think. Also, I've recently started a kind of literature tumblr which features some of my poetry and other short writing things. If you like my writing or are curious or just want to support me, my name is janeaustenordie on tumblr so look me up. I take requests, so if you want me to maybe write a scene for a couple you ship based off of a prompt or idea, I can and will do that for you to the best of my ability on my tumblr. Just ask or message me. If you're not sure if I'm familiar with the fandom, ask anyway and I'll try. Thanks!**

Chapter 32

Jace knew with one look at the set of Clary's jaw that she was planning on leaving.

He expected a rush of betrayal at the realization, but it never appeared, despite her promise to stay. Every part of him knew that she'd meant it when she'd agreed to his pleas. Clary had never lied to him before, even though he knew this must've been a challenge for her, and she definitely seemed like any plans she was making were out of desperation, rather than a desire to leave.

Honestly, he was having a difficult time feeling anything but concern for her after seeing her initial reaction to the posters. He'd just been confused when he stooped down to examine the piece of paper. The image was undeniably creepy. The sharp, jagged lines of the cliff and the steep drop below seemed to hint at a sort of hysteria that Jace was surprised to recognize. The most eerie part of the whole drawing was not the cliff, but the girl standing at its edge. Jace's initial thought had been that it was a drawing of Clary. The smooth angles of her face and the wild ringlets of her curls, as well as the slight figure all clearly resembled Clary. In fact, the only aspect that gave him pause was the smile.

On the woman in picture's face was a crazed upturn of her mouth unlike any of the gentle smiles or amused grins Jace had ever been offered by Clary. The closest to that face he'd ever seen her make was the fake smile she'd occasionally offer to customers, but even that was muted.

It was confusing to him that the image could look so like and so unlike the Clary he knew at the same time.

While his initial reaction had been confused and a distant anxiety, Clary's had been far more pronounced. He watched her walk across the road to a poster pinned to Maryse's wall – one of the what seemed like thousands flooding the town – in what could only be described as a daze. He heard her sharp inhale and watched her slow procession, each step seeming more careful than the last like she was under a spell and concerned about being the one to end it. When the paper was between her fingers, it was almost like a physical weight rested on her thin shoulders and Jace wondered if this was a new addition or merely the reappearance of something that had been there all along.

She seemed frozen and Jace felt stuck in place as well, like the next movement would be world-changing.

And he was right. There was a split second of stillness and then he saw her waver, just slightly, like her world was turning. It was a subtle movement. A minute lean back. If the air hadn't been crackling with tension, he'd have assumed she was rocking back on her heels, like she occasionally did when she was unsure of where to head next.

It was all he needed to know that she was going to pass out.

Faster than he'd have thought possible of himself, he was at her back, arm wrapped around her middle, lips by her ear, begging her to come back to him.

 _She's having a panic attack_.

She'd been close before, he knew, when Isabelle had knocked on the door and Clary had clearly thought it was Jonathan. He'd been able to pull her out then, but he knew it'd take more than a strong arm of comfort to help her here. The words on the poster, ominous and strange as they were, had instantly set off warning bells for him and Clary's reaction to them only served to confirm what he already sensed.

Jonathan had found her.

And Jace had no idea how to help her here.

After she'd told him about her family, he'd been shocked by his own initial assessment of her fears. He'd drastically underestimated what she'd been – they were – dealing with and he regretted ever attempting to minimalize her concerns, thought it had come from a good place. He genuinely couldn't even imagine the absolute terror that must've been rocking through her right now at the knowledge that her nightmare had found her. How could he help her with this?

But he'd made promises of his own. He'd only known her a short time and yet, he was already hers. He knew he'd been selfish in convincing her to stay, as it had been done only because he couldn't have dealt with the reality of losing someone who'd already begun feeling she was a part of him as well as the idea that he could protect her from whatever came. He'd truly believed that he could've protected her at the time, but now, as her demon was looming before them both, he wasn't so sure.

Not that that mattered. It wasn't even a question. He'd do everything in his power to protect her, even if it killed him. He refused to let Clary suffer anymore and he refused to lose her without a fight.

So he held her up when her legs gave out and tried desperately to pull her out of the murky depths at the bottom of her own cliff, even as he wondered if he could.

Jace had had a habit of not being enough. He hadn't been enough to protect his parents. He hadn't been enough to protect his brother. He hadn't been enough to help his family through the fair amount of tragedy they'd been dealt.

But he'd be damned if he fell short for Clary.

That was the only thing going through his mind as he tried to keep her from passing out.

Then, without warning, she sucked in a harsh breath, almost painfully as if it was being done through her pure force of will. A few more short, gasping breaths followed the first in rapid succession before she ripped herself from his arms and turned to face him, distancing herself in more ways than one.

When he asked for the truth, there was no doubt that she'd offer it to him.

"Yes. He's back, Jace. He's found me."

He felt his anxiety mount as the words she wasn't saying rang clearly amongst the clamor that the town had become.

 _And I'm leaving._

His mind began racing, looking for the words he'd need to convince her to stay, but what could he say to her? How could he fix this?

"Clary," he began, his features etched into a look of concern, he was sure.

"I'm going to go to talk to Maryse and turn in my apron," she muttered, her eyes now focused on the ground. She didn't explain why she'd be quitting and he was glad they weren't pretending that this didn't change things.

He felt himself nodding dumbly, frustrated with his own lack of agency. What could he do? He couldn't keep her here. In doing so, he'd only become the thing she was attempting to escape and he'd rather lose her than take away her freedom.

She turned to leave him and his arm shot out of its own volition so that his hand was curled gently around her wrist. She jolted to a stop, her eyes landing on his hand and traveling slowly up his arm to his eyes.

"Just," he started, not sure what he was saying. His desperation forced him to continue, "Please come back, alright? I'm gonna wait out here for you. Please?"

She hesitated, her eyes scanning him and brimming with uncertainty. His pure, unadulterated fear must've been overpowering because, after a long, quiet moment, she nodded briskly and offered, "I'll be right back."

While she was gone, he felt something in his chest tighten and the hopelessness of his situation seemed to sit squarely on his chest. He pulled out his phone, simply for something to do other than run over their predicament endlessly, and called the Penhallow residence to let them know that he wouldn't be coming over to work today. By the time he hung up, Clary was leaving the building, with Maryse watching closely from the window and what he assumed every dollar she'd earned from her time here. Izzy followed closely behind Clary, her own features marred with confusion. Her eyes shot to Jace's, as if in search of an explanation.

"I just don't understand why you have to go now, Clary," Isabelle muttered, her voice thick with more emotion than Jace would have expected after such a short time knowing Clary. Then again, if he was any indication, Clary certainly had the effect of inspiring complete loyalty on people.

"I'm sorry, Izzy," Clary's voice was calm and devoid of any feeling at all, but her eyes shone with what Jace suspected were unshed tears. They'd grown surprisingly close and Izzy's looked heartbroken as she studied the two of them.

"Clary, I go back to school in a couple of weeks. Just stay in town for a little while longer. We were getting so close and Jace," she froze, her eyes flitting to Jace's once again. Jace felt his heart clench again at the pain in her eyes. He wasn't the only Lightwood who'd fallen for Clary.

His own face was drawn into a careful mask, determined to at least keep his fear from showing. Isabelle would be hurt, but he didn't want to worry him. Clary's secret was a burden he'd basically begged to shoulder, but it wasn't fair for either of them to give it to Izzy.

Slowly, Izzy nodded, still studying Jace's countenance. What she saw there, he couldn't say. He was quite confident that he looked calm at least, but, then again, maybe that was a bigger indicator of how he felt than tears or anger ever would be. He doubted any of them forgot his stony silences following Max's death.

"You'll come back?" Izzy asked, attempting to swallow the surprise Clary had dealt them.

Clary's eyes were trained on Jace's shoulder, but he knew she wasn't really seeing him. For her, it was a point in the distance, because at this point, distance was all she could offer. They flitted up to meet Jace's and she sucked in an unsteady breath before turning to his mother and sister.

With a wobbly smile, she stated, "Thank you both so much. You'll never know how much you've given me."

Maryse's own gaze was heavy on them both and he knew Clary felt it too. They all seemed to feel her avoidance of the question Izzy had handed her. After a heavy moment, Maryse stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Izzy's shoulder. With another protracted silence, she concluded, "Be safe, Clary. Come back when you can."

Clary's bottom lip found its way between her teeth and she bit down hard enough to draw blood. Jace had to get her out of there or else she'd lose it, so he reached out and slipped his hand around hers, giving her a gentle tug.

"Let's go home, Clary."

He could tell once he said it that it had been the wrong thing to say. When the word 'home' left his lips, her shoulders began to shake lightly and thick tears rolled down her face. Izzy's face crumpled in response and she heard Maryse suck in a breath, no doubt her mother instincts were rising.

Before he could react, she turned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his shirt. He didn't have the luxury to take in the fact that she was willingly turning to him for comfort, such a large step for the two of them. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and wrapped the others around the underside of her legs, lifting her into the air and cradling her to his chest, much like he'd done that first night when they'd met.

He offered his family a glance and stated, "I'm taking her home. We're going to be okay."

With his back to the town and the evil Jonathan had left there, Jace wondered if he'd told them the truth.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd wanted to lay her down for a nap when he got home, as halfway there she'd stopped sobbing and had slumped tiredly against her, the fight leaving her body.

When he'd placed her down though, her fingers didn't uncurl from his shirt as he'd expected them to. She gave him a gentle pull with her hands and a more forceful one with her wide, pleading eyes. Before he knew it, he was on his back, with Clary's head on his chest and his arms around her as if he could hold her there forever.

There was nothing either of them could say to make things better, he knew that as well as she. They were both clinging to the moment and each other because they knew these moments were fleeting.

"Let me come with you, Clary," the sound of his own voice startling even him in the silence.

She didn't respond at first. The only sound that filled the space between them was her quiet breath and he'd have thought she hadn't heard him if he didn't know better.

"No."

Her answer was quiet, but it felt like a sucker punch nonetheless.

"Please," he begged, not bothering to disguise his desperation.

She shifted so that her hands were laid on his chest and her chin was resting on them, letting her look at him for the first time since she'd first wordlessly asked him to stay with her. It hurt him to see them puffy and rimmed in red, the only outward sign of her distress. She'd gotten ahold on her emotions and seemed to exude a grim determination.

"I wish things were different for us," her words gentle, like something harsher would break whatever this was between them.

His hand rose from her waist to cup her cheek and he argued, "It can be. It doesn't have to be like this. Let me go with you. I can help you."

She leaned into his palm, her skin deceptively soft against the roughness of his calloused palm. No amount of smooth skin could disguise the steel that hid just beneath the surface. She was stronger than he could ever be.

"This is my fight and I've done enough harm, don't you think?"

Her eyes betrayed some of her sadness. He wanted nothing more than to absorb her pain.

"You've brought me back to life, Clary. It only hurts because I can't stand the idea of losing you." His voice cracked, but he didn't care. What point was there to erecting a wall between them now? There was nothing in him that she couldn't break, so why waste time trying?

His words brought a melancholy smile to her lips and she placed her hand over his, like she was trying to imprint the sensation of his flesh on hers.

"And you've taught me that life can be worth living."

He hadn't cried when his parents died. He'd barely known them then and he resorted so easily into silence that tears hadn't seemed like an option.

He hadn't cried when Max was taken from him. Then too guilt and anger with himself flooded his system so heavily that his sadness had seemed small in comparison. He'd felt like he died that day and the dead didn't cry.

But at Clary's words, he felt something in him break and without warning the first tears he'd shed since childhood slid down his cheeks. He felt Clary move so that his head was in her lap and her arms were around him. He pressed his face into her stomach and felt a heart-wrenching sob leave his lips, the sound muffled by her shirt, the fabric scratchy against his face.

She held him until the sobbing stopped, her fingers moving through his hair in a soothing motion. There was nothing that she said to him to help him pull through, and for that he was grateful. He didn't need promises she couldn't keep. He didn't need words of comfort.

He just needed her.

He drifted off to sleep thinking for the first time that he might love her.

When he woke up, she was gone.

 **A/N: Again my tumblr name is janeaustenordie. Check me out!**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Thanks again to all of my amazing readers. I love you guys. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. If you're interested in reading any of my poetry, check out my tumblr. My name is janeaustenordie. I take requests if you ever want me to write you a one-shot or something. Just ask.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own my own self-esteem. I've doled that out to you guys, chapter by chapter. So I definitely don't own anything in this chapter.**

Chapter 33

It was Jace's face that assaulted her when her nervous fingers dialed a number she knew by heart.

She was worried when she left that her last image of him would have been the sight of him sobbing into her shirt which was actually another one of his shirts. So it was a pleasant surprise when he popped into her head offering her that special smile she liked to imagine he'd reserved just for her – a look of excitement and almost fascination. She tried to use that face as a source of strength.

There was the distinct click of the call being answered, but Clary was initially met with complete silence. If she'd been calling anyone else she'd have guessed that the call had been dropped, but she wasn't calling anyone else. He was waiting for her to make the first move and she'd be damned if she'd give him any more of what he wanted.

After a minute, maybe more, his voice shattered her very last hope.

"Clary?"

And just like that, Jace's face was replaced with a surge of emotion she could barely identify.

Pure, hot anger.

Once again, this man was taking everything from her, treating her like some sort of misplaced possession, all because she'd had the misfortune of being born a Morgenstern. Jonathan Morgenstern would be her downfall simply because he could be.

But she knew in the second her name left his lips, his tongue curling around it in a possessive gesture he couldn't seem to help, that if she was going down, she'd be taking him down with her.

This would be her last stand. The final proof that what Jace had told her was the truth.

She was good. She was not evil.

"Message received. I'm coming home. I need three days. Don't send anyone else."

Her voice was hard and she forced herself to hang up the phone before the bitter, angry words she knew would satisfy his insatiable hunger for emotion any form came spilling from her lips.

She stared at the phone for a moment and jumped in her seat when it started vibrating. On instinct, she pushed open the window next to her and dropped it out, earning herself more than odd looks from her companions.

There was a moment of stillness where she let her pulse slow and tried to wrap her mind around her overreaction. She pressed her hand against lips and suppressed a sort of manic giggle at the idea of him dialing her number frantically, growing more and more frustrated at his inability to reach her. Maybe he'd try to track her phone. Maybe he'd throw his own phone against a wall.

And then the moment was over and her mind began turning and working for a plan.

She'd never get into the house with a weapon, that was a given. Jonathan was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. If she was going to kill him, it'd have to be with a weapon she got or made in the Morgenstern mansion. Her timing was crucial as acting too soon would be expected and would likely get her killed, but waiting too long had other threats.

Though it had taken Clary longer than most, she eventually came to realize that Jonathan's feelings for Clary went beyond those than a brother should have for his sister. He'd always been protective of her when they'd been children. He'd often leapt in the way of her father's rage to protect her and even something as simple as a scraped knee at playtime was met with deep pain from Jonathan, as he felt personally responsible.

She'd spent a lot of time wondering why her mother had wanted to save just Clary from her family's line of business and every time she came to a conclusion it was the same.

Jocelyn had surely seen Jonathan's hungry eyes on Clary.

As they grew older, he'd grown more affectionate and more demanding. He'd be heartbroken if she so much as rebuked a friendly hug, which she rarely did because she had no reason to suspect that Jonathan had more sinister intentions for her.

It was only after her mother's death that his advances became more blatant.

He'd grab her when she walked by if she wasn't paying attention and his preferred move was to pin her against a hard surface and force her to kiss him. Her father had had the good sense to place Clary under near 24/7 protection, so those moments became fewer and farther between. It only made him more violent, more angry when he could get ahold of her.

Clary remembered one particularly horrible incident, the night her father died, when Jonathan broke into her bedroom and accosted her. She knew without a doubt how far he would've gone if she hadn't hit him over the head with her bedside lamp and crawled out from under him. Her father had made sure she was exceptional at martial arts, but Jonathan's strength and speed was almost unnatural, coupled with his own martial arts training. Her only advantage was her ability to think on her feet. She'd always been the more creative of the two and it had always helped her keep pace with him though she was rarely one step ahead.

For a moment though, she'd been free of him. She'd actually outdone him, but she'd hesitated and he'd caught up. She knew that if she did the same when she was back, he'd finally take from her what she could never get back.

There were more ways to kill someone than to stop their heart and Jonathan would surely kill her.

She'd just have to stop his heart.

So she'd have to bide her time when she returned, but she'd need to be sure she didn't wait too long. Even this was assuming he'd play by his own rules. She had no idea what her month away had done to him.

The bus plowed forward, taking her to her destiny. Before she could think better of it, she reached into her bag and grabbed the other burn phone she'd purchased in case she lost or destroyed her first. After a moment's pause, her fingers moved across the keypad in the order she'd been forced to remember in case of emergencies.

She'd often before been in a state of emergency and wasn't sure this qualified, but her thumb pressed the call button with a force that made her seem far more confident than she was.

The phone only rang once before her favorite song began to play.

"Hello?" Jace's voice, muffled and tinny from the receiver but distinct all the same, rang out in the quiet of the bus.

She didn't answer – couldn't answer. Her throat was clogged deeply with a sense of loss. She worried absently that she'd choke on it.

"Clary? Is that you?"

She bit her bottom lip to keep a sob from escaping her lips. Jace's voice was so sweet in that moment.

A ragged sigh on the other line tore through her and she had to ask herself what her plan had been.

"Clary, if that's you, come home. Please, come back, Clary. I didn't mention it before, but Alec, he works in the government. We could go to Alec and tell him what's been going on and we'll sort something out. You don't have to do this on your own. Just come home. Please, Clary," he begged, his voice breaking on the last word. Her name. She'd never wanted it to cause him any harm.

The silence stretched between them as it so often did in her life, filled with the things she knew she should say, the things she knew she never could say, and the things she wanted, more than anything, to say.

"I think," Jace added, his voice less sure than she'd ever heard it, "I think I might be in love with you. Or falling in love with you. I don't know. I've never felt this way about anyone. I- I didn't even know I could, but I do. I need you, Clary. You are good, so good, and," his voice grew resolute and she could almost picture the lines of his face curving into a look of pure determination.

He continued, "I need you to come home."

She swallowed loudly against the tears that threatened to take ahold of her, knowing that if she started to give in to the despair that had its claws digging into her stomach so deeply she feared she'd bleed that she'd never be able to do what needed to be done. She believed him when he said he was falling in love with her. She was falling, too, and it was something she never thought she'd be lucky enough to have. He'd changed her. They'd changed each other and now it was more clear to her than ever that running would never be enough.

She found, too, that she believed him when he'd said she was good. She'd fallen into his arms with the threat of the Morgenstern curse hanging over her head, but she couldn't imagine Jonathan feeling this way about anyone. She felt too strongly for Jace and that town to be turning into the monster Jonathan was and things like money and power didn't mean anything to her, so she doubted she'd follow in her father's footsteps.

But her mother had been too weak to face the evil and she'd let the people she loved suffer for her mistakes. There was no arguing that her mother had been good, but she'd made her mistakes and they'd all paid the price for them. Until, she'd met Jace, she'd been on the fast-track to making those same mistakes.

So, yes, she was good like her mother, but she was a Morgenstern, too. And Morgenstern's didn't run from what scared them. They didn't get haunted. They weren't beaten or bloodied or chased off. They didn't give in to their enemies.

They killed them.

"I'm so sorry, Jace," she answered, her voice as ice cold as her heart in her chest.

She heard him suck in a breath and plead again, "Clary, just come home."

"I _am_ going home."

"Clary –" _Click._


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: This was incredibly hard to write for a couple reasons. For one, it's intense. For another, it's long. It's also more out of my comfort zone. I've been going through a bit of a rough patch personally, so it's made it harder to write, but this story will be finished. I'm hoping to wrap this story up in like 7 or 6 chapters because it's long and I'm ready to pursue other things creatively. I'm also sure you guys are sick of this. Anyway, let me know and follow me on tumblr. My url is janeaustenordie . tumblr . com (minus the spaces). I post poems and will write you fanfic things if you ask. Please review and give me feedback!**

Chapter 34

The Morgenstern house loomed over her with a more menacing mood than a house should've been capable.

She knew that she'd been seen already. Jonathan had probably located her immediately after her phone call to him, as she knew he would've. He was too smart to let deliberate prods be met without a strategic move. He hadn't made any attempt to grab her though because she'd asked for three days and dragging her back kicking in screaming wasn't nearly as satisfying as watching her walk through the front door. He would almost be able to delude himself that she'd come back because she'd wanted to, rather than through the threat of suffering.

But they both knew the truth.

Clary had made her journey back take the full three days. When the bus had dropped her off at the end of the line, she'd booked a flight home, which should've been harder without any passport or driver's license, but she'd experienced nothing but green lights since she'd left. This had surely been Jonathan's doing as the ticket had been waiting for her at the front desk and she was ushered past security without a word on where her documents were. Once in California, getting home had been simple. Her only real stroke of luck was that the road work had been finished in Alicante and Clary had finally been able to catch a bus out of the impossibly small town.

So here she stood. Miles and miles away from the one thing she wanted and the only two things who would miss her when she died – Jace and Simon, whom she'd trapped in a box before leaving, certain that domesticity suited him more than watching her bleed would.

It was a genuine surprise to her how separate she felt from this place. The house stood as the lone one on a hill that one had to pass a gate at the bottom of and climb its winding road to reach. Even the bottom of the property was a few miles from any neighbors. It made the time she went to school still quite the commute.

Once you reached the top of the hill, there was another gate, with guards and security cameras that you both could and couldn't see. The ones you could see were mostly for show. It kept college kids and confused tourists from thinking the house was unguarded and empty. The ones you couldn't were for real threats, though to her knowledge, there'd never been an attack on the Morgenstern home. Valentine was a paranoid creature though. Clary suspected that true power, as Valentine surely had in his peak, must have oftentimes been accompanied by anxiety. There was a long way to fall from the top, a lesson that Valentine Morgenstern lived by in his every action.

When Clary arrived, the gate at the bottom of the hill had been unlocked and unmanned, in an unsurprising turn. At the bottom sat an empty car, with the keys in the ignition in silent invitation. The hill was certainly climbable – something Clary had verified only once in her life in a blatant act of rebellion and a test of her skill. She'd successfully made it out of the house to sneak into a club with Simon – a feat only achieved by merit of the fact that no one had been expecting it. The climb back later that night had been grueling and she'd been met with a furious Jonathan waiting for her in her bed. He'd been so mad that he'd threatened, not for the first time, to kill her for her recklessness. It had quickly erupted into a fight as he'd slapped her and she'd tried to defend herself. When the guards had finally ripped him off of her, he was bleeding from several cuts right above his eye and she'd been on the verge of passing out from the pressure of his fingers against her throat.

The walk had been awful. She'd arrived home tired and muddy and had scraped both of her knees climbing up to her room. Still, the memory of what she'd returned to lit a fire in her belly that made the idea of driving the car to the top unbearable. If Jonathan wanted her to drive, then she'd walk. She'd need to stockpile these little victories while she could.

So, she began her ascent, pleased that she'd purchased a good pair of boots when she'd entered town. It seemed that this was all going exactly as she'd expected, even if she hadn't realized she'd been expecting it.

The day was overcast, with an uncharacteristically bitter wind that cut straight through the jacket she'd accepted from Jace. When she'd met Isabelle, she could quite clearly imagine him buying it for her and her refusing to wear it. The guilt she'd originally felt in taking it had melted away and it was a source of comfort for her now. She held it closer to herself to bask in that comfort rather than to keep out the cold, knowing that she'd have to cut herself off from her emotions when she arrived at the top. Jonathan would surely find her weaknesses, at this he was excellent, but she'd be damned if she handed him one.

Soon enough, she couldn't even feel the chill, as her physical exertion forced the blood to her cheeks. Her blush was something she'd never been able to defeat. It was only when the front door came in to view that her body seemed to rebel. Her muscles began to ache from the effort of carrying herself this far and a tiredness crept over her that felt like it'd been accrued over the course of years, rather than a couple of minutes.

She was just _so_ tired.

Tired of fighting. Tired of being strong. Tired of standing alone. Tired of going on with this hellish existence. Tired of being Clarissa Morgenstern.

"You only have to do it one more time, Clary. Once more and then you're done," she muttered carefully to herself. Hoping she could find strength in her own promises.

Jace's eyes flashed across her mind once more and she forced herself forward again. There would be no rest until this was over. Truly, finally over.

And she would end it.

For better or for worse.

The front door was unlocked, as she knew it would be and she turned the knob slowly, extending her freedom for as many seconds as she could manage. She had no doubt that Jonathan would be on the other side of that door, ready to embrace her. Ready to lock her into his arms and squeeze the life out of her.

So, it was a surprise when she opened the door and was met with silence.

Tentatively, she stepped inside, leaving the door open behind her. The sound of her foot hitting the wooden floor echoed throughout the foyer which maintained only a faint resemblance to the house she'd left behind. The dark wood floor and winding staircase leading upstairs that was visible immediately upon entering were entirely the same. The grandfather clock which had resided by the foot of the stairs since Clary's conception was now entirely in pieces. Upon closer inspection, Clary might've noticed the dried blood caked to the side of it. Every one of Valentine's carefully selected portraits lay smashed and torn on the ground. Another step inside was heralded by the crunching of glass on her new boots. Clary glanced down in a fog, her mind racing as she tried to get a handle on her new situation, which she surely hadn't expected. When she did glance down, her eyes were met with partially dried blood, which was streaked across the foyer and disappeared into the dining room to Clary's right.

She didn't need to crouch down and place her hand to the blood to know that that's what it was, but it was only when she did so and turned her hand over to take in the red staining her fingers did the fear creep in.

Jonathan had always been controlled completely until he wasn't. He was an expert at restraint to a point and at that point, wildness unlike anything she'd ever seen took over. But presentation meant a good deal to him. To see the house in such a disarray alarmed her. She'd always been the reckless one of the two of them. Jonathan wasn't playing by the rules. Clary reached forward for a detached edge of one of the destroyed picture frames and clutched it in her hand. Its broken edge was jagged and would get the job done if need be.

If he wasn't going to follow the rules, then neither would she.

She slowly stood and began following the trail of blood through the dining room which was in a similar state of disrepair. The dining room table was cracked down the middle. The chandelier that Clary's mother had always thought tacky was little more than shattered glass and the chairs that had surrounded the table looked as though they'd been slammed against the walls. The trail continued into the family room and Clary hesitated before following it. Jonathan had truly knocked her off kilter and all of her carefully thought out plans died slowly around the wreck of her family's house.

It was occurring to Clary just how powerless she truly was.

A bloodcurdling scream erupted through the house and jolted Clary into action. All thoughts of care and self-preservation died in lieu of the basic human instinct to help a suffering soul. Clary's concern for human life had always been distinctly un-Morgenstern of her, and she had no doubt that it was the one weakness she'd never be able to truly suppress.

She darted around the corner of the dining room into the family room, absentmindedly cursing the lack of _freaking_ doors between each of the rooms. There was nowhere for her to take cover and it was hard to imagine that Valentine had designed the house without this in mind.

Unsurprisingly, she entered the room to find Jonathan Morgenstern standing over a bloody, nearly lifeless body. Two imposing guards, surely trained to hide any semblance of feeling, each held an arm back and supported the unfortunate prisoner, as clearly, he was unable to stand. Otherwise though, the room was empty and free of the destruction the other two rooms had endured. Again, it was all part of the show. Surely enough, the trail of blood ended at the prisoner's feet and there was no doubt in Clary's mind that all of the blood had been his. He was borderline unrecognizable as human, dirty and bloody as he was. His eyes were swollen shut and blood, both dry and fresh, covered any hint of flesh. The clothes he wore hung around him as though they'd once fit, but some starvation had taken its toll on him.

Clary let her eyes travel to her brother, who had not yet turned to face her. His dark eyes were trained out the window behind the poor soul he'd been torturing for days, it seemed, as if there was nothing in the room that could've held his interest. As if he hadn't spent a month scouring the nation for her, his mind developing method after method of torturing her so that only a broken shell remained with which he could toy. He was dressed smartly in black slacks, a crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top two buttons, and a black dinner jacket. His blonde hair, more white than truly blonde, was trained back carefully, so that the ends remained straight against the nape of his neck and the front clung closely to his scalp. His pale skin was blemish free. The only sign of potential distress came in the form of dark circles under his eyes, a symptom of being a chronic insomniac since childhood.

Jonathan Morgenstern looked, in a word, slick.

He was the exact likeness of their father, the monster he'd hated so much he'd become him.

A rush of fear threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced it down and waited for her racing heart to slow down. All too easily, numbness settled over her like a favored friend. He was waiting for her to make the first move, but if they'd truly reversed roles, then she'd die before she gave him the satisfaction.

Finally, Jonathan tilted his head so that his eyes were trained on her and a manic smile formed on his face. How must she have looked to this man? Her red curls were trained back into a bun – a way to keep him from using them to pull her close – but already her face was surrounded by stray tendrils, sticking up in every conceivable direction. Her eyes were likely also lined with dark rings as well, the symptom of a learned insomnia. Her jeans and boots were surely streaked with mud and scuffed from her hike and her hand was covered in blood.

Clarissa Morgenstern looked, in a word, sloppy.

"Miss me?" she asked, the words slipping from her lips impassively. She wouldn't have been sure it was her voice had she not felt her mouth move. Perhaps ice cold was genetic after all.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, amused more than shaken, though she hadn't expected to scare him. They were both too smart to not recognize who had the power here and who did not.

"Why," he began, his voice sharper against her ear drum than she could've possibly imagined it, "Yes, _we_ have."

As if on cue, the miserable creature in front of him groaned and lifted his head. Clary watched in pain as he craned his neck towards her and struggle to open his swollen eyes. Every fiber of her being wanted to reach out and help him, but she wouldn't play into Jonathan's game.

"It's not like you to make friends, Jon," Clary stated, wracking her brain for a reason as to why this man was here. More than likely, Jonathan would kill him to remind Clary of his cruelty. She wasn't liable to forget, though, so the stunt seemed a little redundant.

His dull eyes lit up minutely at her use of his nickname. It felt irritably familiar on her tongue and she had to force herself to ignore the memories of her calling out to him affectionately.

"Normally, you're right. Other people, besides you," he added with a suave wink to set her ill at ease, "are tedious. However, you actually introduced the two of us and we've gotten along famously. Haven't we, mutt?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion despite her best efforts and her unease doubled.

It was only when the beaten man groaned out a defeated, "Clary?" that she realized what Jonathan had done.

"Luke!" she exclaimed, instinctively stepping towards the best father-figure she'd ever have. Forcing herself to freeze in place, her head swiveled to face her brother accusingly and she spat out, "He has nothing to do with this."

Jonathan stepped forward to begin circling the bruised remains of Lucian Graymark before he replied placidly, "I tended to agree with you on that matter, but he insisted on joining in on the festivities of today by making today possible. For, if he'd never helped you to escape, we wouldn't need to be celebrating your homecoming, would we?"

Luke groaned again and weakly began to struggle against the arms holding him up. Before she could stop herself, Clary tried to soothe him with a gentle, "Shhh… Luke it's okay. Don't struggle. I'm fine. Just rest, okay? I won't let him hurt you."

"Me? Hurt him?" Jonathan scoffed, feigning offense at her words. "I didn't drag him into this mess and then leave him to die so that I could play house with a recluse, now did I?"

Clary instantly tensed at the mention of Jace and felt fury surge in her gut. Noticing her response, a flash of irritation crossed Jonathan's features and he continued, "Ahh, yes. I know about your little boyfriend, Clary. Too bad you belonged to me. You two were a cute couple. As far as I see it, you're responsible for everything that's happened to our dearest house pet here." He paused, stopping his shark-like rotation to stand in front of Luke menacingly, before continuing, "And you're responsible for everything that is going to happen to him."

Instinctively, Clary dropped the makeshift stake she'd brought with her and lifted her hands in a defenseless gesture. Taking a careful step towards the pair, she pled, "Please, Jon. You're right. This is my fault. Please, just let him go. He's innocent. It's me. It's always been me. Take this out on me."

"He gave up his innocence nearly a month ago, Clary," he stated, sounding as detached as she'd felt every day she'd lived before meeting Jace. His eyes were trained on Luke, but she knew he was paying attention to every footstep she took towards him in search of a potential threat. Meanwhile, Clary felt her anxiety rising to consume her. There was nothing she would say or could do that would protect Luke from what Jonathan had in store for him. She knew that.

Still, she tried, "Jon, please, if you only let him live, I'll stay here forever. He can be your insurance. I'm not going anywhere. You have me. You've won. Now use him to ensure that your victory lasts. You need him."

The tension eased itself from Jonathan's stance and he shot her an almost boyish smile before agreeing, "You're right, Clary. I can use him. As long as you have someone to protect, you'll do as you're told. I know that."

Clary's tension, however, lingered, as did her confusion. It was _too_ easy. What was the point of the show if he'd just hand her exactly what she wanted? Her confusion mounted as he turned away from Luke as if to dismiss him and began to move towards her.

When he froze, her heart leapt with fear. He made a show of cocking his head to the left and rubbing his chin thoughtfully before adding, "Although, your boyfriend is pretty easy to find and I'm sure you want to protect him. Two people seems a bit excessive, doesn't it?"

Clary watched him raise his arm, now equipped with a small dagger, as if in slow motion. She'd always felt like her mother, falling from the ledge to her death. All of her actions and choices had felt heavy as if laden down by gravity up until this point.

Watching Jonathan move to plunge the knife into Luke's stomach, Clary could almost see the ground rushing towards her.

In a last-ditch effort, Clary threw herself at her brother but she knew before knocked into him that she'd be too late. All too quickly, Jonathan's dagger found purchase in Luke's stomach and Luke gave a moan of acknowledgment just as Clary barreled into Jonathan, knocking them both to the ground.

Clary was the first to react by pulling herself off of Jonathan and at Luke. She clutched his face in her hands carefully and attempted to pull him onto her lap.

With a spiteful look, Clary snarled, "Let go of him," at the guards and he was gingerly laid so that he was on his back and his head was in her lap. Clary's brain frantically tried to recall any first-aid she'd gathered as she inspected the knife wound.

"Okay okay okay, you're going to be okay," she muttered madly, feeling her grip on her sanity loosen with each word. She yanked up Luke's shirt despite his moan of protest and was unsurprised to find the knife wedged into his chest deeply, the wound bleeding profusely.

"I'm going to leave the knife in because you'll probably bleed out once I remove it, but I'm going to apply some pressure," she continued, unaware that she was rambling.

"Clary," Luke moaned, looking at her through the thin slits his still swollen eyes allowed him for a field of vision.

Clary paid him no heed. She was already out of her jacket and ripping the bottom off of the green V-neck shirt of Jace's that she'd been unable to part with in the end.

"This is going to hurt," she added, by way of warning before pressing the piece of Jace's shirt against the wound in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding.

Luke didn't offer a groan at the movement, which caused panic to strike Clary afresh. He'd lost too much blood. There was so much blood. The piece was soaked with it and her legs resisted against the stickiness of it pooling on the floor.

He was dying.

Before she could help it, tears sprang to her eyes and flooded down her cheeks, landing in fat drops against Luke's now ghost white forehead.

She felt, more than saw, Luke reach up and cup her cheek gently, and allowed herself to lean into the final kindness he'd shown her. Though he was bruised and bloodied, he was still Luke. He was still the man who'd shown her some of her first kindnesses. He'd shown her again and again that people could be good. He'd displayed that love could be selfless.

He'd given her Jace.

More importantly, he'd given her freedom.

And he'd been the first in her life to do that.

"Clary," he said again, though this time not as a moan. She imagined he was no longer in pain and was, for a moment, almost jealous. Her heart felt like it was ash in her chest and every bone in her body ached with the injustice of it all.

Lucian Graymark was a hero and he would die unknown in the Morgenstern curse.

Because of her.

"You're going to be okay, Luke. I'll get you out of here and then we'll run that bookstore together, like we'd planned. Mom will be there too and she'll be so happy to see you. And we'll let you talk about whatever incredibly nerdy thing you're researching. We'll be so happy because you're going to be okay," she rambled, unsure as to whether she was comforting him or herself.

"Clary," he breathed once more, before his grip against her face went slack. There was so much between them left unsaid. She'd never told him how much he'd meant to her. She'd never gotten to apologize for leaving him behind. She couldn't even remember when she'd last told him that she loved him.

The last thing between them had been her name.

And what a poison that had been.

Just like that, he was completely still and Clary knew he was dead.

Just like that, she hit the ground with a thud.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Wow this is late and I'm the worst. I'm super sorry. I hope you guys can forgive me. I've been the worst and you deserve better. I hope this pleases you.**

Chapter 35

Jonathan was unprepared for the stab of regret that managed to permeate his satisfaction at the knowledge that Clary was now well and truly his.

Though his expression remained carefully impassive, he struggled to attach a face to that unfamiliar sensation. Clary would never forgive him for this, he knew, but Jonathan would've been a fool to entertain the idea that he'd be able to build on the foundation they'd lain. His best bet had been to break her spirit and rob her of any alternatives. This was why he'd greeted her as he did. This was why the mutt had needed to die.

Jonathan felt an echo of his earlier regret cloud his confidence at the thought.

 _The mutt?_ he asked himself, angrily. He regretted putting down the filthy Graymark hound? He'd killed his own mother for _fuck's sake_ and the dog's was the face that would join Clary's in haunting him?

His frustration mounted and he had to force down the urge to strike out at Clary for a release.

Stupid, _fucking_ Clary who was weeping over a dog. Stupid, _fucking_ Clary who'd had to run away in the first place and started this whole thing. Stupid, _fucking_ Clary who couldn't just love him like he'd wanted.

He tried to force the tension from his shoulders. The last thing he needed was to give Clary something with which to bait him. He hadn't been the only one trained by Valentine in the art of manipulation and no one on this planet knew how to get under his skin like Clary did.

Still, Lucian Graymark, though little more than a mutt, had come quite close.

Despite his better judgment, he'd seen some of himself in this dog – unwanted and unloved. A plaything at the whims of his betters. So he'd become greater than those people. Stronger than them. In his mind, the animal had been too weak to follow suit, so he'd done the best he could. He'd loved them instead.

He could quite clearly recall when he'd made the choice to own, rather than be owned. Something told him the mutt remembered when he'd made his choice.

Clary's crying gradually slowed to sharp intakes of breath and he felt another stab of pain, this time one that he understood and suppressed. The mutt had been wrong about one thing. Jonathan loved Clary and causing her pain was not something he relished. Every bone in his body ached to reach out to her and hold her close, but he knew that their interactions from this point on were crucial if he was to convince her that she loved him. The goal seemed admittedly optimistic, but he wasn't foolish enough to try and touch her when she was like this.

Finally, Clary's breathing steadied and silence reigned supreme in the suddenly cavernous room. Her back was to him, but he could see quite clearly that she was covered in blood. The jeans she'd arrived in were saturated from her sitting on her calves. The jacket she'd arrived in and had since cast off was similarly stained and Jonathan absently hoped she hadn't worn anything she'd want to keep. The mutt's body looked stiff and pale in her small arms, something she seemed to imitate. Her shoulders were rigid and he imagined each of the muscles in her small back steeling against him at a sharp contrast to the gentleness of her wild curls that broke loose from the braid in which she'd tried to trap them.

His fingers twitched as the urge to touch her became nearly unmanageable. He wondered if her skin was as smooth as he'd remembered it and the idea nearly sent shivers down his spine. She was so close now and all at once he felt the full force of how much he'd missed her. Clary, _his_ Clary, had returned to him and it was all he could do to stand there, separate from her.

A tinge of irritation settled in his brain like an unwelcome guest as the thought of someone else's hands on her took root. The struggle to dismiss it as irrational was futile. All he could wonder was if some man, across the continent knew exactly how soft Clary's skin was.

He wondered if she'd let him touch her. If she'd let him hold her. If she'd let him kiss her.

His irritation morphed into anger at the thought and the desire to hit Clary flared up again. Every muscle in his body was straining to keep himself from setting his new relationship with Clary off on an even worse foot as images of her being with another man flooded his system.

He tried to keep his anger aimed towards the other man, as surely he'd manipulated Clary. He must've done or said something to coerce her to stay with him, as she was left defenseless in the world without her brother.

His focus zeroed in again on Clary, poor, lovely Clary, whom he'd taken great pains to break. She'd mercifully ceased hyperventilating and was now almost completely silent. Her body relaxed for a moment, as if the weight of the world was hitting her all at once. Then all at once, she tensed again and it occurred to him that she was preparing to attack him.

The realization offered him no protection when she suddenly turned and lunged at him, the knife that he'd buried in the hound's chest now gripped fiercely in her dainty hand. The two of them crashed to the ground with a thud and from the corner of his vision, he saw his guards step forward.

Amusement bubbled up in his chest and he let out a shout of, "No," to stop them in their tracks.

Clary pushed her body up, her knee locked on either side of his chest. Her free hand pinned one of his arms above his head easily as he struggled to orient himself. All too quickly the hand clutching his blood smeared knife came slamming to his chest and he was only just able to catch her wrist and hold it off. She pushed against his wrist, her muscles straining against his superior strength. He felt the cool tip of the blade against his chest as she pushed all of her weight into her arm, testing the limits of his strength. The sure prick against his flesh as the blade began to dig against his chest despite his effort. He'd clearly underestimated her, not for the first time.

He was acutely aware of the surefire trickle of blood as Clary broke skin and Jonathan knew he had to end this now. Quickly, he hooked her leg with his and turned his trapped wrist so that his hand gripped hers and held it down. He pushed his pelvis up, barely taking satisfaction in the widening of her eyes in surprise and the feeling of his body pressed against hers before turning to the side and knocking her off of him and onto her back. He winced internally when her head slammed into the ground and she blinked blearily to orient herself against the pain that was surely erupting in her skull.

Fully in control now, he pinned her thin wrists above her head with one of his hands and held the knife against her throat, his hand shaking with restraint as he resisted the instinct to murder her. Funny how it was almost easier for him to kill her than anything else. A manic laugh ripped through his lips as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

She struggled briefly, pushing her hips against his roughly feebly in a way that almost elicited a groan from him and pulling against his iron grip on her wrists. After a moment, she stopped abruptly and looked him squarely in the eye, defiance etched into her every feature.

There was something indescribably sad that welled up in his chest at the wild look in her eyes as their chests heaved, his failing to fall into sync with her erratic breaths, but even so, he'd never felt more alive.

"Do it," she spat, her every muscle tense beneath him as if preparing for the sensation of his knife running across her throat and her blood mixing with the hound's.

The shaking in his hand stopped and his breathing slowed as he forced his body to hide his pounding heart. He didn't bother schooling his features into a placid expression, for once enjoying the upturned corners of his lips.

"Do you hear me?" she asked, enunciating each word as if they were of utmost importance. "Kill me. Slit my throat. End me. DO IT."

She was shaking now, though her face was still twisted into an expression of anger. Of hatred.

And all he could do was laugh.

"Oh Clary," he cooed, sounding every bit the monster she thought he was. "This was fun. I'm not going to kill you, especially after you given me such a potent," he pressed his hips against hers more firmly, watching her panic set in, "reminder of why I love you in the first place."

He tossed the dagger to his right without breaking their eye contact. With one more malicious twist of his lips, he stood, still standing over her, and concluded, "It'll be good to have you home, my angel."

Her body went slack beneath him and he could've pinpointed the exact moment he watched the hope drain from her eyes. Stepping over her, he began walking away, leaving her there on the floor, empty as he feared she might be.

His satisfaction was in full force and grief-free when he called out to his guards, "Leave her there. She's not going anywhere."

And he knew in his heart he was telling the truth.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Clary knew it was a dream before prying her eyes awake.

The living room was much the same as it had been when she'd tried to murder Jonathan, cold and sterile as ever. It was even adorned with the surprisingly appropriate furniture piece of a man bleeding out on the floor, as it had been earlier that day. Jonathan was markedly absent, as he often was in these types of nightmares. Evidently even her brain was aware that a Jonathan she couldn't see was far more frightening than one she could.

She entered the room slowly, clutching the piece of the picture frame she'd armed herself with the day before. This time, however, the wood was digging into her flesh so fiercely she could feel blood trickling down her palm. Unlike yesterday, her body had bypassed fear and apprehension and had skipped straight to horror and dread. She couldn't recall arming herself, but she was certain she'd known it was hopeless when she did so.

And she'd been right, of course.

The only thing her eyes could focus on when she entered was the body lying prone in the center of what some might ironically call the "family" room. He was dead. Luke was dead and it wouldn't really have mattered if she'd been there in time to watch him die or not. He'd been dead when she'd agreed to leave him behind. There was no use lying to a corpse.

It had just begun to dawn on her that this was a dream when the body let out a strangled gasp.

She was at the dying man's side before she had time to process what she was doing. The dagger was gone from his chest, but she could quite clearly draw its image to her mind. She as if it'd been waiting for her arrival, fresh blood began to bloom on his chest, spreading more quickly than she could prepare for across his white t-shirt. Her hands fumbled across his chest in search of the wound, eliciting a harsh groan from her poor victim.

"Where were you stabbed?" she asked, pleased at the only slight tremor in her voice as her eyes scanned his bleeding torso.

"Clary," a familiar voice hissed out, pain etched into every vibration.

Her heart nearly stilled as surely as her hands did as realization wrapped itself around her throat like a cloud of smoke.

"This is a dream," she stated, her eyes finding purchase in the oblivion out the window and her voice steady.

She felt him lift his hand more than she saw it, as his whole body shifted with the movement and it was accompanied with another pained gasp. His arm creakily moved towards her, lifting past her neck to land on her cheek.

Trying to focus on the dampness of the blood on his fingers rather than the calloused roughness she knew well against her cheek, she whispered, "This is a dream."

"Look me in the eye when you kill me, Clary."

Her eyelids fluttered shut instinctively as the sound of her name on his lips wrapped itself around her shoulders like a blanket, even as the rest of his words shattered her tentative self-control.

"C'mon, firecracker," he wheezed once more as the blood drained from her face.

His hand tilted her face downward so that her hair hung around them like a curtain of wildfire and she had to suck in a steadying breath before she opened her eyes.

"Oh Jace."

It was as much a prayer as it was a statement of fact. Even though his pale, drawn face was a fiction she'd never seen, it managed to chill her to the bone. Jace was dying, and though it wasn't real, he broke her heart.

His lips curved weakly upward, like her eyes were some relief to him at last, and it took the sight of tears on his cheeks for her to realize that she was crying.

"Oh Jace," she echoed, fisting his white shirt in her own bleeding hand. "I'm so sorry."

He blinked slowly, looking peaceful despite the pain that must've been setting in like a favored friend. He seemed to exude forgiveness at a constant contrast with her mind's intentions with setting up this scenario, but it was a forgiveness she couldn't accept.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, steeling her mind against the tragedy that threatened to swallow her whole.

"But you're not real."

Jace's eyes widened in shock and, for one excruciatingly long moment, he looked hurt by her statement. Once the moment was over, it was as if she'd broken the spell and he was gone. She was alone for only a couple of seconds before she woke up and even then, it was with a sense that perhaps she should've always been alone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The remaining Morgensterns fell into a relative routine despite themselves.

Jonathan, Clary noticed, woke up every morning at 5 a.m. with a start, jerking up so quickly the mattress creaked almost imperceptibly. If she was being more accurate, he actually woke up for the first time at 3:37 a.m., the second time at 4:52 a.m. and the final time at 5:19 a.m., before actually rising from his bed. Clary at first assumed he was waking himself up periodically to check on her. But when she didn't hear his footfalls come towards where she slept in one of the guest rooms a few doors down from his, she realized the decision to come into consciousness was less of a decision and more of a consequence of his lifestyle.

She liked to imagine that he had nightmares about the horrible things he'd done, but imagining Jonathan with a conscience was a dangerous pastime. More than likely, he was paranoid, a purely Valentine trait he seemed to have inherited.

When he rose, he took approximately 23 minutes to prepare himself to see her. This entailed, Clary suspected, washing his face, brushing his teeth and his hair and masturbating until he felt his urges were under control. Clary was certain Jonathan had heard the phrase "go fuck yourself" enough to have seriously considered it as an alternative to forcing himself on his sister, though the habit in no way made her safe with him.

Then, he'd appear in her doorway clad in only his boxers and a white wife beater, an obvious excuse to display his strength and size to her, as if he only need show her what she was missing to make her his.

"Clary," he'd state, his voice cold despite his best efforts. He'd clear his throat once, maybe twice if he was particularly frustrated and continue, "I'm hopeful you slept well."

This, like so much else between them, was a façade. She'd be perched on the window seat, her knees drawn tightly to her chest as if she could compress herself small enough that she'd cease to exist. Her bed would be made as it had been when she'd been shown this room on her first night, untouched as a symbol of Clary's resolve. The dark circles under her eyes continued to give her a haunted look.

The two of them ate breakfast together without argument after the first few days. When he'd first expected her to join him, she'd staunchly resisted and they'd argued about it so intensely that he lost his temper and had dragged her to breakfast by her hair. When she'd still persisted in refusing to eat, he'd had his men hold her down and he'd forced food down her throat, growing more and more violent the more and more she bitten him and spat food out.

He'd laughed though, the entire time. Her antics, more than anything else amused him. She was serving as an elixir for him and she knew it. She watched the profound effect she'd had on him as he seemed almost relaxed when she saw him around the house and could almost see why he'd been so desperate to have her back.

Almost.

After the third day, her resistance had simply fizzled out, a fact he too noticed with equal parts dismay and satisfaction. She joined him for dinner willingly and painted when he asked her to. When he'd been so bold as to ask for a kiss nearly a week into her return, she'd acquiesced with a gentle touch to his cheek, though she'd admittedly looked visibly shaken at the request.

He began to worry that he'd been to brutal with her the first few days, but his actions of violence and aggression had only strengthened her resolve in the past. Had he successfully broken his darling Clary? What was different between them now?

His only guess would've been her complete absence of hope. With Lucian's death, he'd certainly asserted his absolute power and she knew that there was no leaving him, especially if she valued that man as much as she seemed to.

The timidity between them was palpable. Clary knew Jonathan would make his move on her soon, if only in the vain hope that her own lack thereof would make her more susceptible to accepting and reciprocating his love for her.

She tried not to think about Jace. Though her mind ached for the comfort of his gold eyes, there was something about the Morgenstern home that felt too dangerous to harbor even the idea of Jace.

He still popped up though. In her drawings. When she was forcing herself awake. When she inevitably drifted off.

When she was planning the end.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: So I made you guys wait on this one, and I'm very sorry. If I'm being honest, this has gotten a lot a lot harder to write just because the subject matter is so much heavier. I've got 3-5 chapters left though, so I hope to be done by the end of the month, if all goes as planned. Hopefully the wait has been worth it.**

Chapter 37

Clary guessed Jonathan felt like he'd been kept waiting long enough.

That was why, when he crept into her room that morning, he lingered in the doorjamb, eyeing her with a hint of frustration and hunger. After a moment, she knew her gaze, trained out the window as it so often was in a practiced disinterest, needed to be focused on the danged in front of her.

They locked eyes and Clary suppressed a shiver at the emptiness she still saw behind his. How had she ever seen him as her brother? As her family? The way he looked at her now was anything but familial.

"How are you this morning, Clary?" Jonathan asked, placing a foot across the threshold of her room.

Clary struggled to keep her breathing even, her mind instantly focused on avoiding this moment.

 _Stop him now. Kill him later_.

"Please," she asked, her voice pathetic to her own ears. "Don't."

Another foot in the room came in response and Clary's safety shrank with each step.

"Don't what?" he mocked, his eyes trailing up and down her pale figure. At his behest, she'd changed out of her bloody clothes and had swapped them out for the other set she'd brought with her, layering on shirt over shirt into a makeshift suit of armor. Even with this though, she wanted to tug on something else to cover every inch of her skin.

"Please. Leave," her voice wavered and her expression must've revealed some of the fear that wrapped around chest, constricting her breath.

"It's my house, Clary. If I want to enter into one of my rooms, I will. Doesn't that seem fair, Clary?"

Venom dripped from his tongue as he neared her, her name sounding _wrong_ on his breath. Her thoughts sharpened into focus as she developed and discarded escape plans with stunning speed. She'd never be able to fight him off like this. His stance was rigid and he approached her like a lion would its prey. Her best bet was still to catch him off guard, which made her options of fighting him off somewhat limited. They'd fought before, when they were younger, and he knew she'd continued to train, but it was unlikely that he knew just how seriously she'd taken it. She, on the other hand, had witnessed is brutality and skill several times. She had an advantage that she was unwilling to sacrifice so easily.

So she'd need to be smart. Bide her time just enough to gain the upper hand and do what needed to be done.

With his next step, Clary released a shuddering sob, her shoulders shaking at what seemed like the suppression of terror. Jonathon hesitated, his warring emotions for once clearly on display before his mask took over. He reached a hand out and laid it on her shoulder, the ice in his heart chilling her skin. She forced herself not to flinch and every bone in her body was combatting her natural flight response.

She buried her teeth in her bottom lip, drawing blood, much to Jonathan's apparent fascination. His expression seemed tortured and Clary knew his desire to make her love him was working against him. He lowered himself to his knees in front of her, so that they were eye level, and this time she did flinch, sucking in a shaky breath. His dark brow furrowed and for a moment, Clary could see a human being. Slowly, as if each move was an act of restraint, he pressed his forehead into the crook of her neck, its smoothness nearly inhuman. For an incredibly agonizing moment, they stayed like that, his head pressed into the crook of her neck, his breathing shallow, his hands planted on the windowsill on either side of her body. She was caged in and breathing deeply in an effort to calm her shaking shoulders.

"I want you, Clary," his voice piercing her mind like a lance, the malice undercutting the tremor in his voice.

A shudder tore through her and she knew she had to act smart. Carefully, she supplied, "I-I need-"

"More time," he sighed, pulling back slowly.

His eyes, dark as his intentions, scanned her own green ones, apparently dissatisfied with what he saw there. He let out another sigh, this one harsher, before tearing out of her room with the slam of her door.

Clary waited a beat before exhaling slowly in relief at what was beginning more and more to feel like a postponement of the inevitable. She needed to act soon.

She pulled the rubber band from her wrist and wrapped her hair in a bun resolutely, her mind already preparing for battle.

Turning her head towards the window, she watched her reflection as her eyes turned to steel and any semblance of the woman Jace cared for disappeared. She was no longer Clary, a girl who needed to wrap herself in Jace's strong, golden arms.

She was the Morgenstern.

Jonathan had more than proven that there could be only one.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Clary pressed her hand against Jonathan's office door and opened it, she heard Jonathan's quiet, tense voice conclude, "Well this is obviously an exception. Bring it to me immediately."

She stepped through the threshold, timidly, gaining Jon's attention immediately. His brow furrowed in confusion as he hung up on whoever he was talking to.

He pushed his chair back from his desk and Clary stated, "You don't have to stand. I just wanted to – " she hesitated, swallowing against the fear.

"Wanted to…?" he prompted, his expression as unsure as she felt.

More bravely, she concluded, "I wanted to talk, I guess."

"Talk?" he asked, his confusion morphing to fascination.

She took another step towards him and another, until she stood across from him, on the other side of his desk.

"Do you remember Mom?"

He cocked an eyebrow and scrutinized her. She knew he was trying to figure out her angle.

"It's just," Clary continued, forcing her eyes downward to focus on his impeccable desk. "Whenever I try to pinpoint where it all went wrong, how it got like this, all I can picture is her falling."

Jonathan released a mirthless laugh, throwing his head back against his large, leather chair, and replied, "It started long before then, Clary."

"I think I know that now," she offered, looking into his eyes, sincerity etched into her guarded expression. "I know there was a lot you had to take from Valentine that I never saw or didn't understand. I couldn't see that he was breaking you."

Jonathan's jaw twitched as he appraised her, still wordlessly.

"I guess I just mean for me, where everything went wrong was when she died. I used to think she was perfect. She was good where Valentine was evil. She was light where Valentine dark. Everything about her just –" she broke off, tearing up aa the memory of her mother, smiling in green, assaulted her senses.

"She wasn't like that," Jonathan added bitterly. "You were her little angel and I was her little disgrace. It's a wonder she didn't kill me while I was still a baby. Maybe she needed to be sure, I don't know."

"She was weak. She was always weak, not perfect. She couldn't protect us any more than she could protect herself."

Jonathan looked surprised at Clary's words and leaned forward in interest.

"What's got you thinking about her, Clary?"

Clary sucked in a breath, contemplating the answer to his question before returning with one of her own, "If I move closer, can you," she paused, offering a pleading look, "not touch me."

Jonathan's mouth quirked up into a half-smile and he raised his hands in a surrender gesture.

"I'd never say no to you willingly coming near me," he agreed easily.

After a moment's hesitation, she came around to the other side of the desk, stopping several inches away from him and sliding back so that she was propped on his desk with her knees drawn closely to her chest. She focused her attention on hiding the effect being so close to him had on her.

"I feel like I'm on that ledge sometimes, Jonathan," Clary finally answered, focusing on her brother's expression.

"What do you mean?" His voice was quiet and concerned, Clary's only indication that his feelings for her were in any way genuine, as twisted and violent as they were.

"I don't want to be weak like her, but I know I have been. I've been running away from what it means to be a Morgenstern, just like she did. And now I feel like I'm standing with her, on the ledge, moments away from death. And just like her, I have no idea how to get down."

The silence between them was thick and Clary was sure that Jonathan hadn't expected this bout of honesty from her.

"You know I'd never let anything happen to you. You're mine, Clary, and I'll keep you safe."

She felt her eyes water and a slow tear trickled down her cheek as she focused on him again. Her green eyes almost seeing through his black ones.

"Can you help me get down, Jonathan?"

It must have been the lost look in her eye or the mournful lilt in her voice that caused him to lean towards her, his expression pained, and to promise, "I'll do anything, Clary."

She released a sobbing breath and smiled lightly at him, some hope evident in her features and he smiled in response, his own chest lighter. Tentatively, she reached a hand out towards him and pressed it gently to his cold cheek. His smile grew and he leaned into the contact.

Her hand moved back to the nape of his neck, her fingers curling into his hair softly.

Without warning, Clary yanked back on his hair with her right hand and drove the pen he'd been writing with into his neck, causing sharp pain and a scream of agony and surprise to rip through him.

"I'm gonna need you to _die_ ," she hissed, yanking again so that he flew backwards in his chair, which she yanked out from under him and slammed into his chest almost before he hit the ground. The chair shattered and she held the broken leg of it in her hand. Quickly, so quickly that he barely had time to react, she drove the makeshift stake into where his torso was. He managed to roll out of the way despite the throbbing pain in his neck and chest.

She was jabbing again at him before he had a chance to clamor to his feet, stabbing his shoulder. He pivoted his body so that his feet were towards her and pushed her backwards into the wall of the small study, knocking his globe off of his desk in her fall.

She was on her feet as quickly as he was and they were in defense stances on either side of his desk. He pulled the piece of wood from his shoulder with a wild howl of laughter and tossed it to the side. He feinted to the left, his move matched in speed by hers to the right. He did the same in the opposite direction and was incredibly impressed again by her reaction.

"I must say, Clary, I didn't know you had it in you. I'm not sure why though, this is exactly the fire I first saw in you. This spirit, it's incredible," he mused, his voice not hinting at the pain he was in and the genuine concern he felt at the possibility that she might actually best him.

"I'd be more interested to see your spirit, Jonathan. In fact, how about I kill you, so we can both see it," she spat back.

He laughed again and pushed the desk towards her to trap her against the wall. Once it began to move, Clary pushed up from the ground with her arms and swung her legs so that she slid across the desk and kicked Jonathan back. He grunted against the impact and grabbed onto her ankle. She swung her free leg up and slammed onto the crook of his arm, forcing him to release her. More quickly than he could process she pressed her foot against his bleeding shoulder, causing him to cry out again in pain. She pushed more fiercely, her muscles straining against the effort, until his knees crumpled beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Without hesitation, she reached into the top desk of his drawer and pulled out the gun she knew would be there. She checked to ensure it was loaded and turned off the safety before training it on her brother.

"I shouldn't be surprised you left it in the same spot Dad did, Jon, and I'm not really. More disappointed. Sentimentality like this is very un-Morgenstern of you," she jeered, her hand shaking as the adrenaline coursed through her veins.

Jonathan groaned and clutched his shoulder in pain on the ground before letting loose another laugh.

"Well, well, well, Clary, I'm very impressed. You have become a worthy adversary and, honestly, I'd rather die by your hands than any other. That is," he smiled menacingly, "If you can kill me. I'm not convinced you've got it in you."

"Maybe this will convince you," she concluded, increasing pressure on the trigger.

Before she could fire, two of Jonathan's guard clamored through the door, each holding the arm of a man with a bag over his head, dragging him across the threshold.

Clary's eyes widened at she studied them, surprise coloring her expression.

"What the hell is this? Another game?" she barked, earning a groan from Jonathan's prisoner.

"Excellent timing," Jonathan cackled, clapping his hands together in amusement. "I guess we'll never know if you'd have shot me, Clary. Now, if you do, our newest guest dies."

Clary turned again towards the captive, her mind not comprehending all that was happening. Even as the guard nearest her, ripped off the cloth covering the man's face. Her heart sank to the floor before her brain supplied her with a name she wished she'd forgotten.

"Jace."


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: This sort of turned out like I wanted it to, but we'll see. I'm feeling two more chapter and then I'm ready to start something new. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me for this long! I hope this fanfic has been worth my spotty updates and marginal writing abilities.**

Chapter 38

When three large men grabbed Jace outside of a gas station on his way to the local news outlet, the first reaction to permeate his surprise was a rush of excitement.

Followed, of course, by fear, frustration and anger.

He didn't bother fighting back, even as they pushed him to the ground, delivering crushingly painful kick after kick. All he could was clench his jaw, protect his head and resist the urge to hit back. His ribs were throbbing and the air in the trunk of the cliché, nondescript black car was stifling as he jostled back and forth, but his thoughts were focused on a pair of green eyes he'd been unable to keep from his mind.

He wanted to see her. He was _excited_ to see her.

Even if he was going to probably get himself killed in the process.

The knowledge that there was very little chance he'd make it through this alive had an astoundingly small effect on his resolve. He had a plan and, with a little luck, it'd be enough to get Clary out of this.

More than missing Clary, he was worried for her. She'd been gone for a few weeks and he had made a concerted effort to keep himself from imagining any of what was happening to her. He managed well enough during the day, keeping himself busy, making plans, reaching out, but each night he fell asleep thinking of her and woke up with visions of her beaten, bruised and bloody slamming into his lungs, robbing him of breath.

It had actually begun to become a problem in recent days. Alec and he had dissolved into several screaming matches over Jace's obvious exhaustion. He'd forced himself to sleep the last two nights so that he was on top of his game, but his family had definitely begun to feel the strain of his tension.

None of that mattered the moment he'd been dragged into the room that was to be his final destination.

When the car came to a stop, the Morgenstern's goons came around the back of the car and hauled him out of the trunk before forcing a thick cloth bag over his head. He was a little surprised they bothered, considering he'd been allowed to see the house and where they were before being covered, so what utility did it really offer? He also knew the Morgenstern was intentionally hiding in plain sight. They didn't intend to let him leave alive, so who did they expect him to report what he saw to?

The only explanation he could conjure was the idea that his identity was meant to be secret. Maybe the Morgenstern wanted to keep Clary from knowing he was there or he intended to scare him by taking away his senses.

The move was effective in that way. He definitely couldn't see and the thickness of the cloth seriously inhibited his hearing as well.

Each of the guards grabbed him by an arm and dragged him forward harshly. The third kicked at his legs, forcing him off his feet so that they trailed behind him.

As he was carried through the house, he began to hear faint crashes and banging, that grew louder and louder as they progressed. Wherever they were going was definitely violent.

He began to hear voices and, without question, knew the softer female voice he heard was Clary's. His heart was racing. Clary was in a fight, probably with her brother. His mind supplied instantly several vicious scenarios where Clary would have to raise her fists in self-defense.

When they finally removed the cloth, he wasn't as surprised as he maybe should have been to find Clary holding the gun and the man sneering at him now bleeding from both his neck and shoulder. A surge of pride flooded his system.

She was markedly less pleased to see him. In fact, her face practically deflated after her surprise melted away. He couldn't say he was surprised by her reaction, considering he'd clearly interrupted her big move.

The room, clearly a study of some kind was a mess. The large oak desk was slammed against the wall. Splintered wood littered the ground, as did office supplies and a broken globe. Jonathan, he guessed, was bleeding and panting heavily while Clary barely had a scratch and held him at gunpoint. Apparently, her move had been a successful one.

His eyes flicked from Clary's tense form to that of her brother. He would have never guessed, without the benefit of context clues, the two were related. While Clary was a streak of color and warmth, Jonathan, with his pale skin, white hair and almost black eyes, was almost colorless and the callous upturn of his lips as he smirked at Clary sent a chill through Jace's spine.

Regret hovered at the edge of his consciousness as he wondered if he should have left well enough alone. Clary clearly had a handle on the situation, but, somehow, he knew she'd have done the same in his shoes or, more likely, something better. She was clearly better at planning than he was.

He felt cold metal press against the back of his skull, followed by Jonathan's cool voice, "You can shoot me and my guys shoot your Ken doll, or you can drop your gun and we can play nice, Clary."

Jace snorted and quipped, "I hardly think Ken is an adequate comparison. I've got a couple pieces of equipment he's undoubtedly lacking."

Clary's eyes were venomous as they cut to him, a look he was unaccustomed to from her but could interpret with ease.

 _Shut up_.

"This wasn't part of the deal, Jonathan," Clary hissed, her knuckles white from her grip on the gun.

He tsked her slowly with her tongue before replying, "Neither was shooting me, but here you are with a gun aimed at my head. How very Morgenstern of us both it seems."

Her eyes narrowed in hatred and she quipped, "So I'm supposed to believe that you either anticipated my attack and called on the gangster squad before I made my move, which means you got your ass handed to you from an attack you were expecting, or somewhere between your bleeding and being forced to your knees, you placed a call."

His smile widened, his expression far too pleased for Jace's liking, and he supplied, "In my defense, I had every intention in leaving the hick in his cabin. But he was heading to a news outlet when the _gangster squad_ brought him here. I was surprised to hear that you told him about the family business, but, just like mother, you turned out to have a weakness for a pretty face."

"Awww he thinks I'm pretty," Jace chimed in, his irritation showing itself like it knew best - snark.

Jonathan didn't seem to register his response, but the guard not pressing a gun to his head delivered a swift kick to his side, earning a groan from Jace. He glanced up at Clary and decided he'd keep his comments to himself from now on, if only to keep the distress he saw now from Clary's face.

"I shoot you and you shoot him. I put the gun down and you torture him before you shoot him. Sounds like he's dead anyway. In terms of leverage, I'm not sure you have much. Tell me why I won't shoot you."

Jace was surprised by the ice in her voice. It was completely at odds with the Clary he knew and the look of genuine pain that flashed across her face when the guard kicked him. More surprising than her behavior was his faith in her. He knew what she felt for him was real, so he had to believe she was just playing the game.

Besides, he came in knowing he'd probably die. He was okay with it if it meant Clary would be free.

Although, if she could buy him some time, his plan did stand a chance.

"Clary, come on. He's my insurance that you'll stay. I need him alive to keep you from running," he answered, his tone light, as if he wasn't discussing Jace's life.

"Besides," he added, "if this little stunt proved anything, it's your spirit. We can pretend, _angel_ ," the term of endearment slithered off of Jonathan's tongue, making Jace's anger come to life, "but you and I both know that you think you can outsmart me. You almost did today, in fact. If you shoot me, he's dead. If you don't, you buy yourself some time to save your damsel."

Clary's focus switched between the two men rapidly and he could almost see her wheels turning, trying to put together a win-win scenario for the two of them when there was none.

And Jonathan knew it, too.

Her shoulders slumped forward and Jace noticed a slight tremor in her hand, outstretched still, holding the gun. His fingers itched to bring her towards him and he wanted, more than anything, to talk to her and tell her his plan. The defeat on her face broke his heart and he, again, wondered if he'd done the right thing.

 _This has to work_. _I can't let her down_.

With one last plaintive look in Jace's direction, her heart in her eyes, she turned to Jonathan and plead, "Please, Jon, just let him go. Leave him out of this."

"I didn't bring him into this, Clary. A gun is against his head because you put it there," Jonathan stated cruelly.

Jace felt protectiveness overwhelm him and he exclaimed, "This is on me and him, Clary. Don't listen to him." A groan punctuated his statement, as another kick found its mark in his rib cage, which was throbbing now.

Another desperate look clouded Clary's features before sharp resolve overcame it and Clary pulled her arm to her chest, the mouth of the gun digging into the underside of her chin.

"Well if I'm going to be aiming a gun, I might as well be firing it. Right, Jon?"

Pure, unadulterated panic rose in his chest and he attempted to rush to his feet, his arms straining against the grips of the guards who struggled to keep him down. Immediately, pain on both his side and the back of his knees forced him to the ground, as the guards lashed out.

"Clary, no," he grunted, terror clear in his expression.

"Shut up, Jace," she snapped, her gaze focused on her brother.

Jonathan revealed only a hint at what he must have been brewing beneath the surface. His jaw was clenched, though his smile remained, and, in his focus, Jace saw a similarity between them. Here, too, he was planning and thinking. Jace wondered if Jonathan knew how to turn off this analytical side, like Clary clearly did.

"If you shoot yourself, I still shoot Jace and everyone you met in that piece-of-shit town of yours," Jonathan stated, his tone angry rather than condescending.

"Maybe I don't care, Jon. Maybe I'm tired of the games and the running and the fighting. Maybe this is me on my ledge," she answered.

Jace's heart clenched in his chest. For a moment, standing there, she looked incredibly small.

For a moment, it was remarkably clear to him that he might be in love with her.

"Well, then I'm going to have to call you on your bluff, Clary. You decide what happens next. So, decide."

A tense moment followed and Clary's eyes found his like he knew they would. She was searching for something, he could tell by her probing gaze. Gently, he shook his head, willing her to have the same faith in him that he had in her.

He _had_ a plan.

Her expression softened and what looked like tears glittered in her eyes. Dejectedly, she placed the gun on the desk between her and her brother, who reached for it, a sigh of relief on his lips.

"Good girl," he jeered, tucking the gun into the waistband of his pants. "Here's what I'll do for you, Clary, since I'm not heartless. I'll let you have ten minutes, in this room, alone with him, while I see my medic. There will be so many guards on the other side of this door, you'd cry, so I wouldn't try anything. Say your goodbyes. He'll be spending some quality time in a cell where we can ensure the Morgenstern name never leaves his lips. I'd have loved to let him roam free, but you were both rather foolish, so it's no longer an option. In ten minutes, you'll be escorted to your room for some rest. All this activity must have been exhausting for you."

Clary nodded, her eyes focused on some point over his shoulder. Jonathan crept towards her, eliciting a flinch from her instinctively, and Jace attempted to stand again, to no avail. The grips on his arm were iron.

Jonathan tenderly placed a hand on Clary's face and stated, with a hint of finality, "In ten minutes, we start our life together. No more nonsense."

With a lingering look, he stepped past the debris and Jace towards the door, a final, "Do as I say," left in his wake.

The guards shoved him forward and slammed the door behind them accommodatingly. Clary was at his side in an instant, hauling him up and wrapping her arms around his neck before he could process her movement.

He had finally wrapped his arms around her waist when he registered that she was speaking to him in a hushed tone.

"You shouldn't have come, Jace. I had this and you shouldn't be here, but you are. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll get you out of here, I swear."

His fingers found purchase through her hair, as soft as he remembered it, and he inhaled deeply, her scent a comfort to him though it no longer held traces of his shampoo.

"Shh," he whispered soothingly, his heart pounding in his chest. He'd begun to feel like he'd never hold her again, so there was something incredibly right about the moment, even if everything else was wrong.

He pulled back enough to look her in the eye, their luminous glow reminding him why he'd said green was his favorite color.

"You've got to trust me, Clary. I wouldn't have come without a plan."

Her face morphed into an expression of disbelief at his promise and she added, "I do trust you, but you don't know this world. Whatever you planned out there isn't going to translate to this. This is my world and you need to listen to me."

He set his jaw and argued, "Clary, please, listen to me. I just need time –"

"We don't have time, Jace. That's what you don't understand," she interrupted, frustrated and angry with his perceived naivety. "I blew my cover tonight, okay? He's angry. He's unbalanced. He's going to make his move, so mine has got to be better. Please, just stay quiet. Don't get yourself killed. I need you to keep yourself safe. I'm the only one who can stop this and, as sweet as you are, I didn't need a knight in shining armor tonight."

"I wasn't trying to be your knight or whatever," he shot back harshly, his own temper rising at the finality to her words. "I am just trying to be your teammate. You are not alone in this. You never have been. I am here and I can help, if you'll let me."

Her expression softened once again, tears sparkling in her eyes as she regarded him. Slowly, she leaned forward so that their foreheads were touching and whispered, "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and you've given me more than I can ever repay."

His hand moved from her hair to cup her cheek gently and he leaned into her touch.

"You have no idea how much you mean to, Clary."

"I feel it, too," she sighed, pulling back again. "But you're wrong."

His eyes asked her what she meant as she stood and stepped around him towards the door, too stunned by the change in her disposition to follow.

"I am in this alone," she concluded, slamming the door behind her, effectively shutting him off from what was to come next.

He hung his head in frustration as his fingers rested behind his ear for the comfort of knowing that his plan was underway.

They just needed more time.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: This is the second to last chapter in this fanfiction. I've only got one more left, which will probably be in Clary's POV. I hope to have that done this week, but we'll see. I've loved writing this story and I'm kind of in love with the ending. I'm notoriously awful at my endings, and it's through a POV that's been a challenge for me, so please give me as much feedback as possible so I can improve for my future writings. I love you guys!**

Chapter 39

It had become a concerted effort for Jonathan to keep his fists unclenched.

In fact, his personal doctor had had to ask him to relax his body several times while stitching up his shoulder and his neck. Jonathan had been unable to maintain the easing of tension for more than a few minutes and had probably extended the amount of time he'd needed to be sitting in his doctor's chair.

By the time he'd been released, Clary's ten minutes had been up for quite some time. Still, he couldn't stop himself from taking a peek into his study. What he thought he'd find there was a mystery to him. The two of them still wrapped up in each other, perhaps, though it was impossible, he knew.

Jonathan Christopher – or Jace, as Clary so affectionately dubbed him – was stored very neatly in Lucian's old cell and Clary had been escorted to her room. Once again, everything was in its place.

So why did he feel so out of place?

Clary had fooled him. Plain and simple. She had, for just the shortest of moments, revealed herself to him. He refused to believe that the things she'd said to him had been lies. She was far too smart to try lying to him. That just introduced a risk that clearly Clary knew to avoid.

She'd manipulated herself to manipulate him.

He'd have been impressed if the move hadn't left him so heartbroken.

There was something about the way she'd allowed him to see her, really see her like when they'd been children, only to turn against him that left him off balance. For the first time, he was beginning to truly doubt he'd be able to have Clary in the way he wanted her. Perhaps she never would love him.

The sight of her eyes on Jace's, the yearning, the aching, the love between them, it was enough to make him crazy. He'd given her the ten minutes to remind her what was at stake, but even that move brought the converse concern that he'd only fuel her fire of rebellion.

He couldn't pinpoint the moment he'd lost control, but now, that absence was all he could feel. It was undoing him and he knew that whatever he did next would be a result of that chaos that threatened to consume him.

Maybe he was on that ledge, too.

His feet carried him to Clary's door almost on their own. He prided himself on the suppression of his weaknesses, but with Clary there was nothing he could suppress. She made him weak.

But he wasn't the same for her.

Despite his statements to the contrary, he knew she would have shot him. In many ways, Clary was stronger than he was – he knew that now. What he had in strength and speed, she made up for in creativity and improvisation. She was smart and could be vicious when she needed to be.

And she _hated_ him.

He made her stronger somehow. Her anger, her hatred was fueling her against him and he knew, _knew_ , that there was no way he'd get her on his side. That was frustrating beyond belief. He was ready to start getting what he wanted.

 _Taking_ what he wanted.

With that in mind, he pushed opened Clary's door, his eyes immediately falling on the open window. His feet were across the room before his brain entirely comprehended what he was seeing. Her bed had been stripped of its sheets and the clothes he'd painstakingly selected for her littered the floor. Tied to the wooden bedframe was one end of a rope made from the missing sheets and Clary's evidently more sturdy pieces of clothing. The other end was hanging over the windowsill, presumably to the garden below.

He pushed his head out the window, in the hopes of catching a red head bobbing away, and released a frustrated scream, against his better judgment.

Pulling back, he slammed the window down so hard the rest of the room seemed to rattle. One of his guards was in the doorway, his expression alarmed, clearly having responded to the scream. Without thinking, he pulled the gun Clary had trained on him earlier from his waistband and aimed it at the guard's leg, firing without remorse. The man released a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed into the arms of another one of Jonathan's men, who'd come running up behind him.

"Scour the ground for Clary. Leave no stone unturned. If she gets on any bus, train, plane, boat, whatever," he barked, practically heaving in his distress, "I want to know about it and I want one of you there to grab her. One of you grab the prisoner and bring him to the main room. She'll come back for him."

His men started to scatter, evidently concerned that he hadn't dropped the gun yet, and the one he'd shot released another groan. Jonathan rolled his eyes, annoyance permeating his overwhelming panic, and he added, "And someone bring him to the doctor before he bleeds out on Clary's floor."

Two men took the bleeding man under each arm and dragged him off. When they were gone, Jonathan raked a hand through his hair raggedly, letting his frustration mount. To say he was shocked would be an understatement. He'd been so sure that he had her, like a mouse in a trap, especially with Jace still here. Surely, she wouldn't leave him behind.

And she didn't exactly have a lot of resources this time. He knew how to handle an escape and she didn't a night head start. Maybe she had half an hour on him, but she couldn't have gotten far. Another sigh tore through him as he headed towards where he knew Jonathan Christopher would be headed, feeling indescribably tempted by the concept of killing him now to punish her, but then he'd have nothing keeping her here.

This whole move was so unlike her that he was truly, deeply rattled. Never in a million years would he have guessed that she'd abandon her boytoy here to his wrath.

Which means she had a bigger plan.

This realization came with a start as he wracked his brain for what her plan might be. She couldn't go to the police, he knew that much. She was far too smart to not know that he'd bought off local law enforcement. After all, they'd both learned from the best.

Well if she didn't care enough to try to protect her little boyfriend, then Jonathan would cut off one of his limbs every day until she was returned to him.

Then he'd really make them both suffer.

He was pleased when he arrived in the main room to find Jace already there, on his knees with his arms tied behind his back. When Jonathan had first seen this man who'd somehow captivated his Clary's attention, it had been in photographs and he'd been unimpressed.

Sure, the man was undeniably handsome and, of course, he seemed fit, but this person was incredibly ordinary and Clary was anything but.

In person, though, he begrudgingly could admit that he understood it.

He was, of course, more handsome in person, but there was a fire and a spirit in Jonathan Christopher that he could recognize in Clary. The way he'd tried to rush to his feet in spite of the pain he surely knew was coming when she'd turned the gun towards herself could not have been more different from Jonathan's reaction. In all ways but one, Jace was Jonathon's opposite. Rash where Jonathan was calculating. Fiery where Jonathan was controlled. Open where Jonathan was closed.

Their feelings for Clary seemed to be the only thing they shared.

On a very primal level, Jonathan wanted to fight him – man-to-man – for Clary, though he sensed this would be foolish. Basic research into this man indicated that he had received fairly advanced martial arts training and, just from looking at him, Jonathan could tell he was in shape. His suppression of it did little to keep the urge from gnawing at his brain like a termite, making what was usually sturdy and strong become fragile and weak.

Jonathan Christopher looked up when he entered the room and offered him what could best be described as a lazy smile and Jonathan had to use his diminishing self-control to keep himself from lashing out.

"She's gone. She left you here," Jonathan offered, forcing a satisfied smile across her his face. The result was more manic than condescending as he added, "At my mercy."

He'd become so accustomed to eliciting fear that he was almost visibly taken aback when Jace released a satisfied laugh and exhaled, "Man, she attacked you, like, earlier today and managed to one-up you again in a span of 24 hours? Someone in your management team should be fired. I could run a better operation than whatever you have going up here."

Jonathan's fist was striking Jace's cheek before he could fully comprehend the abandonment of his composure.

The pain in his fist was satisfying, as was the way Jace spat blood in response. For the first time, in a long time, he had allowed himself to behave truly in his own self-interest and it was wonderful. He'd make the world bleed if this exhilaration would last.

Jace's eyes found his and his lips tilted upwards in a cocky smile. Another laugh, shorter than the first, erupted from his mouth and he quipped, "I can't believe a man like you had Clary scared, even for a second. I mean, you're sloppy and stupid. My money is on Clary, every time."

Jonathan punched him a second time and a third, just for the satisfaction. And when he continued, "I really can't believe you ever thought she'd love you. I mean, _look_ at you," Jonathan took Jace's head between his hands and slammed it into his knee with enough force to send Jace falling backwards with a groan.

"How about in the bet between you and me, Jace? Where do you put your money?" he snarled, feeling every bit the savage his father was.

"Take off the handcuffs and I'll tell you," he answered, his voice a pained wheeze.

This time Jonathan let out a laugh, his voice booming in the quiet room.

"I feel no need to have a pissing contest with you. I just need you alive long enough to ensure Clary comes back. She's too weak to truly leave you. When she's back, I'll make you wish you were dead."

The lights were off before he even finished the word dead, the room propelled into darkness. Before Jonathan could bark out a question, a gun shot rang out, followed by the telltale _oomph_ and thud of his guard dropping to the ground.

Jonathan's eyes flicked to Jace for any sight of his prostate body, his panic rising when he found him missing, having clearly squirmed away in the fray. With a harsh sigh, he was at the injured guard's body, pulling his gun from his holster and scanning the darkened room. His eyes had adjusted some and he was certain that whoever had cut the power and shot the guard could see him.

And he had a guess as to who that might be.

"Come out, come out," he called, scanning the room for a flash of red or blonde. "Show yourself to me, Clary."

A moment of silence permeated the room and Jonathan could hear nothing. No movement. No clanging of Jace's restraints. No reloading of a gun. No shallow breathing. Only the whimpers of pain from his own guard. Was it possible that Clary grabbed Jace already and left?

"This is a good play, Clary. I have to hand it to you, I'm impressed. Getting me to basically clear my house of guards, so that it can be just the two of us. Cutting the lights so Jace could escape. You knew I'd be too crazed to think straight. It was all truly brilliant. You may be the only person on the planet who truly knows me. _Gets_ me," he called out, eyes still scanning the room.

He heard a clang of metal to his left and fired without hesitation, the bullet embedding itself in wood. Moving slowly to the edge of the room so that his back was against a nearby wall, he continued, "And I get you, Clary. I see you in a way your boyfriend never will, because you've never wanted him to. He sees fire and laughter and cleverness and beauty and you're all of that. But you're more. You are so much more than that. You have Valentine's wickedness. His ability to do what you must. His fixation, obsession with survival. You are Valentine's creativity. You are his resilience. You are his best laid plans. And I am his iron fist. Together we can be amazing."

A laugh sounds from his right, a soft, feminine, distinctly Clary laugh and he fires again without impact. She's toying with him and he knows it.

"At the very least, I know enough about you to know that you won't shoot me here, in the dark. You'll look me in the eye when you do it."

As if on cue, the lights flicked on and there she was before him, as beautiful as ever, with Jace standing behind her, like they were a team. Before he could comprehend her reappearance, she fired once into his shoulder, the clattering of his gun to the ground punctuated by his groan of pain. Fire erupted up his arm towards his shoulder and he pressed his free hand into the wound to stem the bleeding, ripping the stitches in his earlier shoulder wound, much to his anguish.

Jace flinched at the sound and placed his hands on Clary's shoulders, his brow furrowing in concern. Clearly Jonathan was correct in his assumption that Jace had never seen this side of Clary. The side that was looking at him now, her eyes empty.

"You're right, Jon. You do know me," she stated, her voice emptier than he'd ever heard it.

"What's the big plan? How do you get past the guards looking for you?" he asked, the grim certainty that he'd die settling on his shoulders with a thud.

"Actually, I've got that one," Jace chimed in from behind Clary, his grip on her shoulders unfailing. "My brother Alec is with the FBI. He sent me in with a tracker and a recording device that uploads directly to his computer. It's stuck," he reached behind his ear and showed Jonathan a small metallic square. Easily missed in a search, "behind my ear. He's on his way with the cavalry."

The corner of Clary's lip turned up in a satisfied smirk and Jonathan was almost proud.

 _Almost_.

"So you kill me, escape with your brother-in-law, testify against my men and ride off into the sunset with your boytoy. That's the plan?" he asked, feeling woozy on his feet though his voice didn't show it.

"Yup," she answered, popping the p with her lips. "That's the plan."

"There are two problems with that, angel," Jonathan offered, attempting to appear at ease even as he was losing feeling in his arms. "For one, if you shoot me in front of your boyfriend, he'll see what you've been intent on hiding from him. Your Morgenstern. That callous, emptiness that makes it possible for you to aim a gun at your own brother and pull the trigger. I'll have won, Clary. That's enough to poison whatever thing this is for you."

Clary cocked an eyebrow at him, seemingly undisturbed by everything he just said. His palms were beginning to sweat. Or was that blood?

"What's the second problem?"

He released a laugh. He could hear sirens now. The specific whir of helicopters. The yell of men far less powerful than he was. The ticking of his time.

"You can't do it. You're not strong enough."

"Clary," Jace muttered, one strong, tan arm wrapped around her waist, her back against his front. A symbol of support. A show of togetherness. "Alec is here. Let him deal with him."

"How do you figure, Jon?" she asked, her eyes still cold. Or maybe that was the blood loss.

"Clary, please. You don't have to kill him. You don't need that on your conscience. Please, baby, don't do this." Jace's voice was in her ear like a gnat. An unwanted guest. An uninvited actor in the show about the two of them. Always the two of them.

"It's simple, angel. I'm your ghost. I'll –"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a bang from the end of Clary's gun and an eruption of pain in his chest. He collapsed instantly, an odd show of weakness the muscles he'd trained so meticulously could do little to protect against. How strange that nothing he'd done, none of the killings, none of the money, nothing, mattered. All that Jonathan could register were steely green eyes, still holding him down, more than the blood loss ever could.

"No Jon," she concluded, ignoring Jace's shock as he pried the gun from her hands and wrapped his arms around her. It was just the two of them. Always just the two of them, even as men in black rushed in, reaching for him, reaching for Jace, reaching for her. Always reaching for her.

 _I've won_ , he wanted to say, but something about the tenderness in Jace's gaze, probing her, searching for her attention, keeping the men in black at bay, made him truly doubt if that was true.

She'd turn away from him, after her last promise left her lips. She'd turn away from him and wrap her arms, so soft, so gentle, around Jace's neck. Jace, who was already stooping to be at her eye level, would wrap his arms arounds her so tightly, so securely, like he wanted to combine the two of them. And then they'd leave. Together. Him behind. Like he was nothing more to her than the words she'd offered in her wake. The words that he knew so well. The promise he'd offered finally realized, and still he'd lost.

" _Now_ you're my ghost."


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: So this is the last chapter. I may go through and edit the grammar issues in all of the chapters because my boyfriend is** _ **finally**_ **reading this and I don't wanna embarrass myself. I don't intend on having an epilogue or a sequel and I'm not sure if I'll revisit Clace in my fanfics because this story was my favorite of anything I've ever written. If I get a good idea, I'm willing to write it, so if you have a Clace fic you want to see, suggest it in the comments or message me. I hope you like this. I do a lot because it ended basically exactly how I wanted to, but it was a little hard to write. I post on fanfiction to grow, so constructive criticism, suggestions and comments are appreciated. What did I do well? What did I suck at? How can I improve? Please let me know. I love you guys. Leave me a comment!**

Chapter 40

"I know you don't understand why I did it."

She couldn't explain how she'd known without looking that it was Jace who'd entered the room, the door shutting behind him. It was the pull they both knew but would never be able to put into words.

He didn't answer, though she knew he'd heard her, and instead sat with his back to her in the bed and worked to remove his boots. If she'd turned to look at him, she could've noted the furrow in his brow, the tension in his shoulder. But she didn't turn her head, her gaze focused instead on her fingers, knit together over her knees against her chest. Jace had lent her a long-sleeved, dark green shirt that he swore he hadn't brought to match her eyes. It gaped on her, but the comfort she'd felt immediately was almost unfamiliar in its recent scarcity.

They'd arrived at the hotel hours ago where apparently Jace's brother had been holed up since Jace had first reached out to him. Clary had come to learn that, after she'd left, Jace had gone right to work to call his brother and formulate the plan she'd seen come to fruition. Alec and his men had managed to arrest nearly all of Jonathan's men who were on or around the grounds and the rest had most likely gone into hiding. With Jonathan's cruelty, Clary doubted she'd hear from any of them again.

When they'd arrived, they'd each been questioned by Alec and his partner separately. Clary's questioning took a little over three hours, as she'd had a lot to unpack. Alec had assured her that it was fairly obvious that she'd killed Jonathan in self-defense and the courts would be so pleased to have finally caught and ended the gang that she'd testify and it would be open and shut. Telling him her story would have usually unnerved her, but killing Jonathan had taken everything out of her, so she'd very easily been able to dissect her past under Alec's cool, focused gaze.

When they'd dismissed her, Alec had offered her two key cards – one for her room and for Jace's. There'd been no explanation, only Alec's apparent disinterest in her choice, which had remained stagnant when she eventually took both.

She'd hesitated only momentarily before keying into Jace's room. What if he didn't want to see her? Her fingers were inserting the card and pushing open his door as she wondered if this was the right call. He was on the other side of the door as she pulled it open, his hand outstretched as if he'd been on the way out.

His eyes widened in surprise, but he stepped aside in a silent invitation almost instantly. Clary obliged, ducking past him with a loaded, "Are you heading out?"

He nodded, scanning her from head-to-toe, still clad in three layers of t-shirts from her stay with Jonathan. He had to clear his throat before answering, "I'm just going to talk with Alec for a little bit. I'll be back soon." A pause, heavy in its intensity followed and he added, "I was hoping you'd come by, so I left some clothes for you on the bed, if you want them. And if you wanted to take a shower, feel free."

She nodded wordlessly, attempting to offer a grateful smile and eliciting an awkward laugh from Jace. She tilted her head to the side, a question in her eyes, to which he answered, "I feel like this is our first day all over again. Should I offer some eggs? I could make a grocery run."

Her laughter was easier than she'd have expected after all she'd been through. Her time in his cabin felt years and years ago and she'd begun to worry that they'd have to start over if they still wanted to try at all. But she was raw before him, nothing like the hardened girl she'd been. It wasn't what they'd been, easy, natural, when she'd left, but they weren't starting over.

"I know. It's been," she paused, searching for the right word. "A lot. I'm sorry."

He dismissed her apology with a shake of his head and a heavy smile. Leaning forward, he left a kiss on her forehead and promised, "Clean up. I'll be back and we can talk."

Now he was back and neither of them knew how to start.

They were close, nearly shoulder to shoulder though they faced in opposite directions. She could feel the heat seeping from his skin through the fabric of his cotton t-shirt. His shoes were off now and without the distraction his eyes naturally focused on her. She could feel the weight of his attention as his eyes traced the slopes of her face, much thinner and paler now that her hair hung around her cheeks, still wet from the shower she'd taken.

His fingers grazed her chin, faintly tracing her jaw and turning her to face him. She searched his eyes for the disgust, the fear, the hatred she expected. Now, he knew. Now, he's seen it. The poison she was talking about had never so clearly been on display than when she was pointing a gun at her brother.

"You're right," he answered, expelling a breath she hadn't realized he was holding. His gaze was steady though, a question in his eyes.

There was so much to say and she had no idea where to start. Where were the words that would describe how looking at Jonathan had begun to feel like she was looking at herself? She'd begun to identify the darkest corners of her mind in his eyes, cold and calculating and ready to do what it takes. What was worse was she'd begun to feel grateful for those parts of her. She'd have never survived without them, but nothing about them translated to the softness of Jace's fingers against her face. They didn't fit.

It was becoming hard to believe she could be both girls and the line between them had become increasingly blurred. Something had to give and she'd shot her brother to try. She'd never have been safe with him alive, it was true. But her move had been about more than survival. It was her making her choice. Killing the part of her that was Jonathan.

And in the process, she was worried she'd only made it stronger.

"I thought," she began, her voice vulnerable and her eyes wide and searching. "I thought it would make me better."

Better. The word wasn't right, but his eyes exuded a sense of understanding, which was fantastic considering how little she understood it herself.

"Do you think it did?"

The question would've been easy if it hadn't been the very one she'd been asking herself. He seemed to be genuinely asking her, rather than attempting to lead her to his preconceived answer. So maybe he really wasn't sure.

Neither did she and he must have been able to see that painted across her face because his fingers landed on hers still draped over her knee. It was a gesture of comfort, timid as it was.

"I don't know if I care that you killed him," Jace stated, his face thoughtful. "I'm glad the son of a bitch is dead honestly. I have no idea what you went through while you were with him, but, as far as I'm concerned, you had every right to end him."

She felt her gaze shift to offer him a question, "Then why did you ask me to stop?"

His smile was soft and apologetic in nature and he answered, "I was worried about what that would do to you. I still am. I know he said some awful things about you, but I'm guessing he wasn't lying, Clary." She sucked in a breath, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as the implication of his words set in. His grip on her hand tightened, continuing, "Oh, don't cry. Please, don't cry. I know how that sounds, but I don't think anything he said was actually bad. Of course, you're tough. Of course, you'll do what you feel you have to. I see that. I always have, but now it's clearer than ever. So, you'll make the hard choices and stand tall the next day because that's who you are. He said it made you evil, but it doesn't. It makes you a survivor."

She blinked hard, his words hitting their mark and balming her unease.

"But that's not why you fired the gun today, Clary, and I could see that. It was like you were trying to win against something."

Clary quirked her lips to the side in a lost expression and agreed, "I just don't want him to be right. About me. About us. I want to be the girl who saw movies and went dancing and kissed you. Not the girl who stabs her brother and holds someone while they die. No one wants that girl. That girl doesn't get the guy of her dreams. That girl doesn't live a normal life.

"I know it's crazy, Clary, but you are those two things. Maybe you won't be forever, but you can't just shoot the parts of yourself you don't like. It doesn't work like that. You have to own all of the bullshit or else it's going to overwhelm you and you'll never be more. I believe you can be more."

He was right, of course. She knew that. She was ready to become more than ultimatums and extremes. But it would take time. It would take patience. It would take gentleness. She wasn't sure those were things he still wanted to offer her.

"Where does that leave us? Do you still want me?"

There was a hesitation before his smile spread across his face that made her heart stop beating in her chest very painfully. She hadn't actually allowed herself to imagine a scenario where, at the end of the day, Jace was done with her. The idea that they could come so far and she could feel the way she does about him and still lose him broke her heart.

"After everything we've been through, I can't believe you'd think I wouldn't want you," he answered simply, burying his fingers into her hair at the back of her scalp, bringing her forward again so that their foreheads were touching. She released a sigh, the tension easing from her body. "I want you so much I can't breathe sometimes and that scares me. You scare me."

She nodded, her voice small as she agreed, "You scare me too. A lot."

"How about we stop scaring each other?" he asked, his tone lighter than the gaze he'd draped over her.

Her lips were on his almost before he finished his last word, attempting to glean as much strength from him as she could. It was a lot and imperfect. She still had to figure out who Clary was without Jonathan. Without pain and death and hatred. She'd lost a lot and Luke's sacrifice made her heart beat harder, almost painfully in her chest.

But when she slept that night, his arms around her and her head on his chest, the only eyes that hovered on the edge of her mind were gold.


End file.
